PREFACETHE ADVENTURE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENTTHE ADVENTURE OF THE BLANCHED SOLDIERTHE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONETHE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GABLESTHE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX VAMPIRETHE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GARRIDEBSTHE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGETHE ADVENTURE OF THE CREEPING MANTHE ADVENTURE OF THE LIONS MANETHE ADVENTURE OF THE VEILED LODGERTHE ADVENTURE OF SHOSCOMBE OLD PLACETHE ADVENTURE OF THE RETIRED COLOURMAN

PREFACE

I fear that Mr. Sherlock Holmes may become like one of those populartenors who, having outlived their time, are still tempted to makerepeated farewell bows to their indulgent audiences. This must ceaseand he must go the way of all flesh, material or imaginary. One likesto think that there is some fantastic limbo for the children ofimagination, some strange, impossible place where the beaux of Fieldingmay still make love to the belles of Richardson, where Scott's heroesstill may strut, Dickens's delightful Cockneys still raise a laugh, andThackeray's worldlings continue to carry on their reprehensiblecareers. Perhaps in some humble corner of such a Valhalla, Sherlock andhis Watson may for a time find a place, while some more astute sleuthwith some even less astute comrade may fill the stage which they havevacated.

His career has been a long one--though it is possible to exaggerateit; decrepit gentlemen who approach me and declare that his adventuresformed the reading of their boyhood do not meet the response from mewhich they seem to expect. One is not anxious to have one's personaldates handled so unkindly. As a matter of cold fact, Holmes made hisdebut in A Study in Scarlet and in The Sign of Four, two small bookletswhich appeared between 1887 and 1889. It was in 1891 that "A Scandal inBohemia," the first of the long series of short stories, appeared inThe Strand Magazine. The public seemed appreciative and desirous ofmore, so that from that date, thirty-nine years ago, they have beenproduced in a broken series which now contains no fewer than fifty-sixstories, republished in The Adventures, The Memoirs, The Return, andHis Last Bow. and there remain these twelve published during the lastfew years which are here produced under the title of The Case Book ofSherlock Holmes. He began his adventures in the very heart of the laterVictorian era, carried it through the all-too-short reign of Edward,and has managed to hold his own little niche even in these feverishdays. Thus it would be true to say that those who first read of him, asyoung men, have lived to see their own grown-up children following thesame adventures in the same magazine. It is a striking example of thepatience and loyalty of the British public.

I had fully determined at the conclusion of The Memoirs to bring Holmesto an end, as I felt that my literary energies should not be directedtoo much into one channel. That pale, clear-cut face and loose-limbedfigure were taking up an undue share of my imagination. I did the deed,but fortunately no coroner had pronounced upon the remains, and so,after a long interval, it was not difficult for me to respond to theflattering demand and to explain my rash act away. I have neverregretted it, for I have not in actual practice found that theselighter sketches have prevented me from exploring and finding mylimitations in such varied branches of literature as history, poetry,historical novels, psychic research, and the drama. Had Holmes neverexisted I could not have done more, though he may perhaps have stood alittle in the way of the recognition of my more serious literary work.

And so, reader, farewell to Sherlock Holmes! I thank you for your pastconstancy, and can but hope that some return has been made in the shapeof that distraction from the worries of life and stimulating change ofthought which can only be found in the fairy kingdom of romance.

ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE ILLUSTRIOUS CLIENT

"It can't hurt now," was Mr. Sherlock Holmes's comment when, for thetenth time in as many years, I asked his leave to reveal the followingnarrative. So it was that at last I obtained permission to put onrecord what was, in some ways, the supreme moment of my friend'scareer.

Both Holmes and I had a weakness for the Turkish bath. It was over asmoke in the pleasant lassitude of the drying-room that I have foundhim less reticent and more human than anywhere else. On the upper floorof the Northumberland Avenue establishment there is an isolated cornerwhere two couches lie side by side, and it was on these that we layupon September 3, 1902, the day when my narrative begins. I had askedhim whether anything was stirring, and for answer he had shot his long,thin, nervous arm out of the sheets which enveloped him and had drawnan envelope from the inside pocket of the coat which hung beside him.

"It may be some fussy, self-important fool; it may be a matter of lifeor death," said he as he handed me the note. "I know no more than thismessage tells me."

It was from the Carlton Club and dated the evening before. This is whatI read:

Sir James Damery presents his compliments to Mr. Sherlock Holmes andwill call upon him at 4:30 to-morrow. Sir James begs to say that thematter upon which he desires to consult Mr. Holmes is very delicate andalso very important. He trusts, therefore, that Mr. Holmes will make everyeffort to grant this interview, and that he will confirm it over thetelephone to the Carlton Club.

"I need not say that I have confirmed it, Watson," said Holmes as Ireturned the paper. "Do you know anything of this man Damery?"

"Only that this name is a household word in society."

"Well, I can tell you a little more than that. He has rather areputation for arranging delicate matters which are to be kept out ofthe papers. You may remember his negotiations with Sir George Lewisover the Hammerford Will case. He is a man of the world with a naturalturn for diplomacy. I am bound, therefore, to hope that it is not afalse scent and that he has some real need for our assistance."

"Our?"

"Well, if you will be so good, Watson."

"I shall be honoured."

"Then you have the hour--4:30. Until then we can put the matter outof our heads."

I was living in my own rooms in Queen Anne Street at the time, but Iwas round at Baker Street before the time named. Sharp to thehalf-hour, Colonel Sir James Damery was announced. It is hardlynecessary to describe him, for many will remember that large, bluff,honest personality, that broad, cleanshaven face, and, above all, thatpleasant, mellow voice. Frankness shone from his gray Irish eyes, andgood humour played round his mobile, smiling lips. His lucent top-hat,his dark frock-coat, indeed, every detail, from the pearl pin in theblack satin cravat to the lavender spats over the varnished shoes,spoke of the meticulous care in dress for which he was famous. The big,masterful aristocrat dominated the little room.

"Of course, I was prepared to find Dr. Watson," he remarked with acourteous bow. "His collaboration may be very necessary, for we aredealing on this occasion, Mr. Holmes, with a man to whom violence isfamiliar and who will, literally, stick at nothing. I should say thatthere is no more dangerous man in Europe."

"I have had several opponents to whom that flattering term has beenapplied," said Holmes with a smile. "Don't you smoke? Then you willexcuse me if I light my pipe. If your man is more dangerous than thelate Professor Moriarty, or than the living Colonel Sebastian Moran,then he is indeed worth meeting. May I ask his name?"

"Have you ever heard of Baron Gruner?"

"You mean the Austrian murderer?"

Colonel Damery threw up his kid-gloved hands with a laugh. "There is nogetting past you, Mr. Holmes! Wonderful! So you have already sized himup as a murderer?"

"It is my business to follow the details of Continental crime. Whocould possibly have read what happened at Prague and have any doubts asto the man's guilt! It was a purely technical legal point and thesuspicious death of a witness that saved him! I am as sure that hekilled his wife when the socalled 'accident' happened in the SplugenPass as if I had seen him do it. I knew, also, that he had come toEngland and had a presentiment that sooner or later he would find mesome work to do. Well, what has Baron Gruner been up to? I presume itis not this old tragedy which has come up again?"

"No, it is more serious than that. To revenge crime is important, butto prevent it is more so. It is a terrible thing, Mr. Holmes, to see adreadful event, an atrocious situation, preparing itself before youreyes, to clearly understand whither it will lead and yet to be utterlyunable to avert it. Can a human being be placed in a more tryingposition?"

"Perhaps not."

"Then you will sympathize with the client in whose interests I amacting."

"I did not understand that you were merely an intermediary. Who is theprincipal?"

"Mr. Holmes, I must beg you not to press that question. It is importantthat I should be able to assure him that his honoured name has been inno way dragged into the matter. His motives are, to the last degree,honourable and chivalrous, but he prefers to remain unknown. I need notsay that your fees will be assured and that you will be given aperfectly free hand. Surely the actual name of your client isimmaterial?"

"I am sorry," said Holmes. "I am accustomed to have mystery at one endof my cases, but to have it at both ends is too confusing. I fear, SirJames, that I must decline to act."

"You hardly realize the effect of your own action, Mr. Holmes," saidhe. "You place me in a most serious dilemma for I am perfectly certainthat you would be proud to take over the case if I could give you thefacts, and yet a promise forbids me from revealing them all. May I, atleast, lay all that I can before you?"

"By all means, so long as it is understood that I commit myself tonothing."

"That is understood. In the first place, you have no doubt heard ofGeneral de Merville?"

"De Merville of Khyber fame? Yes, I have heard of him."

"He has a daughter, Violet de Merville, young, rich, beautiful,accomplished, a wonder-woman in every way. It is this daughter, thislovely, innocent girl, whom we are endeavouring to save from theclutches of a fiend."

"Baron Gruner has some hold over her, then?"

"The strongest of all holds where a woman is concerned--the hold oflove. The fellow is, as you may have heard, extraordinarily handsome,with a most fascinating manner. a gentle voice and that air of romanceand mystery which means so much to a woman. He is said to have thewhole sex at his mercy and to have made ample use of the fact."

"But how came such a man to meet a lady of the standing of Miss Violetde Merville?"

"It was on a Mediterranean yachting voyage. The company, though select,paid their own passages. No doubt the promoters hardly realized theBaron's true character until it was too late. The villain attachedhimself to the lady, and with such effect that he has completely andabsolutely won her heart. To say that she loves him hardly expressesit. She dotes upon him, she is obsessed by him. Outside of him there isnothing on earth. She will not hear one word against him. Everythinghas been done to cure her of her madness, but in vain. To sum up, sheproposes to marry him next month. As she is of age and has a will ofiron, it is hard to know how to prevent her."

"Does she know about the Austrian episode?"

"The cunning devil has told her every unsavoury public scandal of hispast life, but always in such a way as to make himself out to be aninnocent martyr. She absolutely accepts his version and will listen tono other."

"Dear me! But surely you have inadvertently let out the name of yourclient? It is no doubt General de Merville."

Our visitor fidgeted in his chair.

"I could deceive you by saying so, Mr. Holmes, but it would not betrue. De Merville is a broken man. The strong soldier has been utterlydemoralized by this incident. He has lost the nerve which never failedhim on the battlefield and has become a weak, doddering old man,utterly incapable of contending with a brilliant, forceful rascal likethis Austrian. My client however is an old friend, one who has knownthe General intimately for many years and taken a paternal interest inthis young girl since she wore short frocks. He cannot see this tragedyconsummated without some attempt to stop it. There is nothing in whichScotland Yard can act. It was his own suggestion that you should becalled in, but it was, as I have said, on the express stipulation thathe should not be personally involved in the matter. I have no doubt,Mr. Holmes, with your great powers you could easily trace my clientback through me, but I must ask you, as a point of honour, to refrainfrom doing so, and not to break in upon his incognito."

Holmes gave a whimsical smile.

"I think I may safely promise that," said he. "I may add that yourproblem interests me, and that I shall be prepared to look into it. Howshall I keep in touch with you?"

"The Carlton Club will find me. But in case of emergency, there is aprivate telephone call, 'XX.31.'"

Holmes noted it down and sat, still smiling, with the open memorandum-bookupon his knee.

"The Baron's present address, please?"

"Vernon Lodge, near Kingston. It is a large house. He has beenfortunate in some rather shady speculations and is a rich man, whichnaturally makes him a more dangerous antagonist."

"Is he at home at present?"

"Yes."

"Apart from what you have told me, can you give me any furtherinformation about the man?"

"He has expensive tastes. He is a horse fancier. For a short time heplayed polo at Hurlingham, but then this Prague affair got noised aboutand he had to leave. He collects books and pictures. He is a man with aconsiderable artistic side to his nature. He is, I believe, arecognized authority upon Chinese pottery and has written a book uponthe subject."

"A complex mind," said Holmes. "All great criminals have that. My oldfriend Charlie Peace was a violin virtuoso. Wainwright was no meanartist. I could quote many more. Well, Sir James, you will inform yourclient that I am turning my mind upon Baron Gruner. I can say no more.I have some sources of information of my own, and I dare say we mayfind some means of opening the matter up."

When our visitor had left us Holmes sat so long in deep thought that itseemed to me that he had forgotten my presence. At last, however, hecame briskly back to earth.

"Well, Watson, any views?" he asked.

"I should think you had better see the young lady herself."

"My dear Watson, if her poor old broken father cannot move her, howshall I, a stranger, prevail? And yet there is something in thesuggestion if all else fails. But I think we must begin from adifferent angle. I rather fancy that Shinwell Johnson might be a help."

I have not had occasion to mention Shinwell Johnson in these memoirsbecause I have seldom drawn my cases from the latter phases of myfriend's career. During the first years of the century he became avaluable assistant. Johnson, I grieve to say, made his name first as avery dangerous villain and served two terms at Parkhurst. Finally herepented and allied himself to Holmes, acting as his agent in the hugecriminal underworld of London and obtaining information which oftenproved to be of vital importance. Had Johnson been a "nark" of thepolice he would soon have been exposed, but as he dealt with caseswhich never came directly into the courts, his activities were neverrealized by his companions. With the glamour of his two convictionsupon him, he had the entree of every night-club, doss house, andgamblingden in the town, and his quick observation and active brainmade him an ideal agent for gaining information. It was to him thatSherlock Holmes now proposed to turn.

It was not possible for me to follow the immediate steps taken by myfriend, for I had some pressing professional business of my own, but Imet him by appointment that evening at Simpson's, where, sitting at asmall table in the front window and looking down at the rushing streamof life in the Strand, he told me something of what had passed.

"Johnson is on the prowl," said he. "He may pick up some garbage in thedarker recesses of the underworld, for it is down there, amid the blackroots of crime, that we must hunt for this man's secrets."

"But if the lady will not accept what is already known, why should anyfresh discovery of yours turn her from her purpose?"

"Oh, to be sure, I had not told you of my plans. Well, Watson, I loveto come to close grips with my man. I like to meet him eye to eye andread for myself the stuff that he is made of. When I had given Johnsonhis instructions I took a cab out to Kingston and found the Baron in amost affable mood."

"Did he recognize you?"

"There was no difficulty about that, for I simply sent in my card. Heis an excellent antagonist, cool as ice, silky voiced and soothing asone of your fashionable consultants, and poisonous as a cobra. He hasbreeding in him--a real aristocrat of crime with a superficialsuggestion of afternoon tea and all the cruelty of the grave behind it.Yes, I am glad to have had my attention called to Baron AdelbertGruner."

"You say he was affable?"

"A purring cat who thinks he sees prospective mice. Some people'saffability is more deadly than the violence of coarser souls. Hisgreeting was characteristic. 'I rather thought I should see you sooneror later, Mr. Holmes,' said he. 'You have been engaged, no doubt byGeneral de Merville, to endeavour to stop my marriage with hisdaughter, Violet. That is so, is it not?'

"I acquiesced.

"'My dear man,' said he. 'you will only ruin your own well-deservedreputation. It is not a case in which you can possibly succeed. Youwill have barren work, to say nothing of incurring some danger. Let mevery strongly advise you to draw off at once.'

"'It is curious,' I answered, 'but that was the very advice which Ihad intended to give you. I have a respect for your brains, Baron, andthe little which I have seen of your personality has not lessened it.Let me put it to you as man to man. No one wants to rake up your pastand make you unduly uncomfortable. It is over, and you are now insmooth waters, but if you persist in this marriage you will raise up aswarm of powerful enemies who will never leave you alone until theyhave made England too hot to hold you. Is the game worth it? Surely youwould be wiser if you left the lady alone. It would not be pleasant foryou if these facts of your past were brought to her notice.'

"The Baron has little waxed tips of hair under his nose, like the shortantennae of an insect. These quivered with amusement as he listened,and he finally broke into a gentle chuckle.

"'Excuse my amusement, Mr. Holmes,' said he, 'but it is really funnyto see you trying to play a hand with no cards in it. I don't thinkanyone could do it better, but it is rather pathetic all the same. Nota colour card there, Mr. Holmes, nothing but the smallest of thesmall.'

"'So you think.'

"'So I know. Let me make the thing clear to you, for my own hand is sostrong that I can afford to show it. I have been fortunate enough towin the entire affection of this lady. This was given to me in spite ofthe fact that I told her very clearly of all the unhappy incidents inmy past life. I also told her that certain wicked and designing persons--I hope you recognize yourself--would come to her and tell herthese things. and I warned her how to treat them. You have heard ofpost-hypnotic suggestion. Mr. Holmes. Well you will see how it worksfor a man of personality can use hypnotism without any vulgar passes ortomfoolery. So she is ready for you and, I have no doubt, would giveyou an appointment, for she is quite amenable to her father's will--saveonly in the one little matter.'

"Well, Watson, there seemed to be no more to say, so I took my leavewith as much cold dignity as I could summon, but, as I had my hand onthe door-handle, he stopped me.

"'I heard that he was beaten by some Apaches in the Montmartre districtand crippled for life.'

"'Quite true, Mr. Holmes. By a curious coincidence he had beeninquiring into my affairs only a week before. Don't do it, Mr. Holmes;it's not a lucky thing to do. Several have found that out. My last wordto you is, go your own way and let me go mine. Good-bye!'

"So there you are, Watson. You are up to date now."

"The fellow seems dangerous."

"Mighty dangerous. I disregard the blusterer, but this is the sort ofman who says rather less than he means."

"Must you interfere? Does it really matter if he marries the girl?"

"Considering that he undoubtedly murdered his last wife, I should sayit mattered very much. Besides, the client! Well, well, we need notdiscuss that. When you have finished your coffee you had best come homewith me, for the blithe Shinwell will be there with his report."

We found him sure enough, a huge, coarse, red-faced, scorbutic man,with a pair of vivid black eyes which were the only external sign ofthe very cunning mind within. It seems that he had dived down into whatwas peculiarly his kingdom, and beside him on the settee was a brandwhich he had brought up in the shape of a slim, flame-like young womanwith a pale, intense face, youthful, and yet so worn with sin andsorrow that one read the terrible years which had left their leprousmark upon her.

"I'm easy to find," said the young woman. "Hell, London, gets me everytime. Same address for Porky Shinwell. We're old mates, Porky, you andI. But, by cripes! there is another who ought to be down in a lowerhell than we if there was any justice in the world! That is the man youare after, Mr. Holmes."

Holmes smiled. "I gather we have your good wishes, Miss Winter."

"If I can help to put him where he belongs, I'm yours to the rattle,"said our visitor with fierce energy. There was an intensity of hatredin her white, set face and her blazing eyes such as woman seldom andman never can attain.

"You needn't go into my past, Mr. Holmes. That's neither here northere. But what I am Adelbert Gruner made me. If I could pull himdown!" She clutched frantically with her hands into the air. "Oh, if Icould only pull him into the pit where he has pushed so many!"

"You know how the matter stands?"

"Porky Shinwell has been telling me. He's after some other poor fooland wants to marry her this time. You want to stop it. Well, you surelyknow enough about this devil to prevent any decent girl in her senseswanting to be in the same parish with him."

"She is not in her senses. She is madly in love. She has been told allabout him. She cares nothing."

"Told about the murder?"

"Yes."

"My Lord, she must have a nerve!"

"She puts them all down as slanders."

"Couldn't you lay proofs before her silly eyes?"

"Well, can you help us do so?"

"Ain't I a proof myself? If I stood before her and told her how he usedme--"

"Would you do this?"

"Would I? Would I not!"

"Well, it might be worth trying. But he has told her most of his sinsand had pardon from her, and I understand she will not reopen thequestion."

"I'll lay he didn't tell her all," said Miss Winter. "I caught aglimpse of one or two murders besides the one that made such a fuss. Hewould speak of someone in his velvet way and then look at me with asteady eye and say: 'He died within a month.' It wasn't hot air,either. But I took little notice--you see, I loved him myself at thattime. Whatever he did went with me, same as with this poor fool! Therewas just one thing that shook me. Yes, by cripes! if it had not beenfor his poisonous, lying tongue that explains and soothes. I'd haveleft him that very night. It's a book he has--a brown leather bookwith a lock, and his arms in gold on the outside. I think he was a bitdrunk that night, or he would not have shown it to me."

"What was it, then?"

"I tell you. Mr. Holmes. this man collects women, and takes a pride inhis collection. as some men collect moths or butterflies. He had it allin that book. Snapshot photographs. names, details, everything aboutthem. It was a beastly book--a book no man, even if he had come fromthe gutter, could have put together. But it was Adelbert Gruner's bookall the same. 'Souls I have ruined.' He could have put that on theoutside if he had been so minded. However, that's neither here northere, for the book would not serve you, and, if it would, you can'tget it."

"Where is it?"

"How can I tell you where it is now? It's more than a year since I lefthim. I know where he kept it then. He's a precise, tidy cat of a man inmany of his ways, so maybe it is still in the pigeon-hole of the oldbureau in the inner study. Do you know his house?"

"I've been in the study," said Holmes.

"Have you. though? You haven't been slow on the job if you only startedthis morning. Maybe dear Adelbert has met his match this time. Theouter study is the one with the Chinese crockery in it--big glasscupboard between the windows. Then behind his desk is the door thatleads to the inner study--a small room where he keeps papers andthings."

"Is he not afraid of burglars?"

"Adelbert is no coward. His worst enemy couldn't say that of him. Hecan look after himself. There's a burglar alarm at night. Besides, whatis there for a burglar--unless they got away with all this fancycrockery?"

"No good," said Shinwell Johnson with the decided voice of the expert."No fence wants stuff of that sort that you can neither melt nor sell."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "Well, now, Miss Winter. if you would callhere tomorrow evening at five. I would consider in the meanwhilewhether your suggestion of seeing this lady personally may not bearranged. I am exceedingly obliged to you for your cooperation. I neednot say that my clients will consider liberally--"

"None of that, Mr. Holmes," cried the young woman. "I am not out formoney. Let me see this man in the mud, and I've got all I've worked for--in the mud with my foot on his cursed face. That's my price. I'mwith you tomorrow or any other day so long as you are on his track.Porky here can tell you always where to find me."

I did not see Holmes again until the following evening when we dinedonce more at our Strand restaurant. He shrugged his shoulders when Iasked him what luck he had had in his interview. Then he told thestory, which I would repeat in this way. His hard, dry statement needssome little editing to soften it into the terms of real life.

"There was no difficulty at all about the appointment," said Holmes,"for the girl glories in showing abject filial obedience in allsecondary things in an attempt to atone for her flagrant breach of itin her engagement. The General phoned that all was ready, and the fieryMiss W. turned up according to schedule, so that at half-past five acab deposited us outside 104 Berkeley Square, where the old soldierresides--one of those awful gray London castles which would make achurch seem frivolous. A footman showed us into a greatyellow-curtained drawing-room, and there was the lady awaiting us,demure, pale, self-contained, as inflexible and remote as a snow imageon a mountain.

"I don't quite know how to make her clear to you, Watson. Perhaps youmay meet her before we are through, and you can use your own gift ofwords. She is beautiful, but with the ethereal other-world beauty ofsome fanatic whose thoughts are set on high. I have seen such faces inthe pictures of the old masters of the Middle Ages. How a beastmancould have laid his vile paws upon such a being of the beyond I cannotimagine. You may have noticed how extremes call to each other, thespiritual to the animal, the cave-man to the angel. You never saw aworse case than this.

"She knew what we had come for, of course--that villain had lost notime in poisoning her mind against us. Miss Winter's advent ratheramazed her, I think, but she waved us into our respective chairs like areverend abbess receiving two rather leprous mendicants. If your headis inclined to swell. my dear Watson, take a course of Miss Violet deMerville.

"'Well, sir,' said she in a voice like the wind from an iceberg, 'yourname is familiar to me. You have called. as I understand, to malign myfiance, Baron Gruner. It is only by my father's request that I see youat all, and I warn you in advance that anything you can say could notpossibly have the slightest effect upon my mind.'

"I was sorry for her, Watson. I thought of her for the moment as Iwould have thought of a daughter of my own. I am not often eloquent. Iuse my head, not my heart. But I really did plead with her with all thewarmth of words that I could find in my nature. I pictured to her theawful position of the woman who only wakes to a man's character aftershe is his wife--a woman who has to submit to be caressed by bloodyhands and lecherous lips. I spared her nothing--the shame, the fear,the agony, the hopelessness of it all. All my hot words could not bringone tinge of colour to those ivory cheeks or one gleam of emotion tothose abstracted eyes. I thought of what the rascal had said about apost-hypnotic influence. One could really believe that she was livingabove the earth in some ecstatic dream. Yet there was nothingindefinite in her replies.

"'I have listened to you with patience, Mr. Holmes,' said she. 'Theeffect upon my mind is exactly as predicted. I am aware that Adelbert,that my fiance, has had a stormy life in which he has incurred bitterhatreds and most unjust aspersions. You are only the last of a serieswho have brought their slanders before me. Possibly you mean well,though I learn that you are a paid agent who would have been equallywilling to act for the Baron as against him. But in any case I wish youto understand once for all that I love him and that he loves me, andthat the opinion of all the world is no more to me than the twitter ofthose birds outside the window. If his noble nature has ever for aninstant fallen, it may be that I have been specially sent to raise itto its true and lofty level. I am not clear'--here she turned eyesupon my companion--'who this young lady may be.'

"I was about to answer when the girl broke in like a whirlwind. If everyou saw flame and ice face to face, it was those two women.

"'I'll tell you who I am,' she cried, springing out of her chair, hermouth all twisted with passion--'I am his last mistress. I am one ofa hundred that he has tempted and used and ruined and thrown into therefuse heap, as he will you also. Your refuse heap is more likely to bea grave, and maybe that's the best. I tell you, you foolish woman, ifyou marry this man he'll be the death of you. It may be a broken heartor it may be a broken neck, but he'll have you one way or the other.It's not out of love for you I'm speaking. I don't care a tinker'scurse whether you live or die. It's out of hate for him and to spitehim and to get back on him for what he did to me. But it's all thesame, and you needn't look at me like that, my fine lady, for you maybe lower than I am before you are through with it.'

"'I should prefer not to discuss such matters,' said Miss de Mervillecoldly. 'Let me say once for all that I am aware of three passages inmy fiance's life in which he became entangled with designing women, andthat I am assured of his hearty repentance for any evil that he mayhave done.'

"'Mr. Holmes, I beg that you will bring this interview to an end,'said the icy voice. 'I have obeyed my father's wish in seeing you, butI am not compelled to listen to the ravings of this person.'

"With an oath Miss Winter darted forward, and if I had not caught herwrist she would have clutched this maddening woman by the hair. Idragged her towards the door and was lucky to get her back into the cabwithout a public scene, for she was beside herself with rage. In a coldway I felt pretty furious myself, Watson, for there was somethingindescribably annoying in the calm aloofness and supremeself-complaisance of the woman whom we were trying to save. So now onceagain you know exactly how we stand, and it is clear that I must plansome fresh opening move, for this gambit won't work. I'll keep in touchwith you, Watson, for it is more than likely that you will have yourpart to play, though it is just possible that the next move may liewith them rather than with us."

And it did. Their blow fell--or his blow rather, for never could Ibelieve that the lady was privy to it. I think I could show you thevery paving-stone upon which I stood when my eyes fell upon theplacard, and a pang of horror passed through my very soul. It wasbetween the Grand Hotel and Charing Cross Station, where a one-leggednews-vender displayed his evening papers. The date was just two daysafter the last conversation. There, black upon yellow, was the terriblenews-sheet:

MURDEROUS ATTACK UPON SHERLOCK HOLMES

I think I stood stunned for some moments. Then I have a confusedrecollection of snatching at a paper. of the remonstrance of the man,whom I had not paid, and, finally, of standing in the doorway of achemist's shop while I turned up the fateful paragraph. This was how itran:

We learn with regret that Mr. Sherlock Holmes, the well-known privatedetective, was the victim this morning of a murderous assault which hasleft him in a precarious position. There are no exact details to hand,but the event seems to have occurred about twelve o'clock in RegentStreet, outside the Cafe Royal. The attack was made by two men armed withsticks, and Mr. Holmes was beaten about the head and body, receivinginjuries which the doctors describe as most serious. He was carried toCharing Cross Hospital and afterwards insisted upon being taken to hisrooms in Baker Street. The miscreants who attacked him appear to havebeen respectably dressed men, who escaped from the bystanders bypassing through the Cafe Royal and out into Glasshouse Street behind it.

No doubt they belonged to that criminal fraternity which has so often hadoccasion to bewail the activity and ingenuity of the injured man.

I need not say that my eyes had hardly glanced over the paragraphbefore I had sprung into a hansom and was on my way to Baker Street. Ifound Sir Leslie Oakshott, the famous surgeon, in the hall and hisbrougham waiting at the curb.

"No immediate danger," was his report. "Two lacerated scalp wounds andsome considerable bruises. Several stitches have been necessary.Morphine has been injected and quiet is essential, but an interview ofa few minutes would not be absolutely forbidden."

With this permission I stole into the darkened room. The sufferer waswide awake, and I heard my name in a hoarse whisper. The blind wasthree-quarters down, but one ray of sunlight slanted through and struckthe bandaged head of the injured man. A crimson patch had soakedthrough the white linen compress. I sat beside him and bent my head.

"All right, Watson. Don't look so scared," he muttered in a very weakvoice. "It's not as bad as it seems."

"Thank God for that!"

"I'm a bit of a single-stick expert. as you know. I took most of themon my guard. It was the second man that was too much for me."

"What can I do, Holmes? Of course, it was that damned fellow who setthem on. I'll go and thrash the hide off him if you give the word."

"Good old Watson! No, we can do nothing there unless the police laytheir hands on the men. But their get-away had been well prepared. Wemay be sure of that. Wait a little. I have my plans. The first thing isto exaggerate my injuries. They'll come to you for news. Put it onthick, Watson. Lucky if I live the week out concussion delirium--whatyou like! You can't overdo it."

"But Sir Leslie Oakshott?"

"Oh, he's all right. He shall see the worst side of me. I'll look afterthat."

"Anything else?"

"Yes. Tell Shinwell Johnson to get that girl out of the way. Thosebeauties will be after her now. They know, of course, that she was withme in the case. If they dared to do me in it is not likely they willneglect her. That is urgent. Do it to-night."

"I'll go now. Anything more?"

"Put my pipe on the table--and the tobacco-slipper. Right! Come ineach morning and we will plan our campaign."

I arranged with Johnson that evening to take Miss Winter to a quietsuburb and see that she lay low until the danger was past.

For six days the public were under the impression that Holmes was atthe door of death. The bulletins were very grave and there weresinister paragraphs in the papers. My continual visits assured me thatit was not so bad as that. His wiry constitution and his determinedwill were working wonders. He was recovering fast, and I had suspicionsat times that he was really finding himself faster than he pretendedeven to me. There was a curious secretive streak in the man which ledto many dramatic effects, but left even his closest friend guessing asto what his exact plans might be. He pushed to an extreme the axiomthat the only safe plotter was he who plotted alone. I was nearer himthan anyone else, and yet I was always conscious of the gap between.

On the seventh day the stitches were taken out, in spite of which therewas a report of erysipelas in the evening papers. The same eveningpapers had an announcement which I was bound, sick or well, to carry tomy friend. It was simply that among the passengers on the Cunard boatRuritania, starting from Liverpool on Friday, was the Baron AdelbertGruner, who had some important financial business to settle in theStates before his impending wedding to Miss Violet de Merville, onlydaughter of, etc., etc. Holmes listened to the news with a cold,concentrated look upon his pale face, which told me that it hit himhard.

"Friday!" he cried. "Only three clear days. I believe the rascal wantsto put himself out of danger's way. But he won't, Watson! By the LordHarry, he won't! Now, Watson, I want you to do something for me."

"I am here to be used, Holmes."

"Well, then, spend the next twenty-four hours in an intensive study ofChinese pottery."

He gave no explanations and I asked for none. By long experience I hadlearned the wisdom of obedience. But when I had left his room I walkeddown Baker Street, revolving in my head how on earth I was to carry outso strange an order. Finally I drove to the London Library in St.James's Square, put the matter to my friend Lomax, the sublibrarian,and departed to my rooms with a goodly volume under my arm.

It is said that the barrister who crams up a case with such care thathe can examine an expert witness upon the Monday has forgotten all hisforced knowledge before the Saturday. Certainly I should not like nowto pose as an authority upon ceramics. And yet all that evening, andall that night with a short interval for rest, and all next morning, Iwas sucking in knowledge and committing names to memory. There Ilearned of the hall-marks of the great artist-decorators, of themystery of cyclical dates, the marks of the Hung-wu and the beauties ofthe Yung-lo, the writings of Tang-ying, and the glories of theprimitive period of the Sung and the Yuan. I was charged with all thisinformation when I called upon Holmes next evening. He was out of bednow, though you would not have guessed it from the published reports,and he sat with his much-bandaged head resting upon his hand in thedepth of his favourite armchair.

"Why, Holmes," I said, "if one believed the papers, you are dying."

"That," said he, "is the very impression which I intended to convey.And now, Watson, have you learned your lessons?"

"At least I have tried to."

"Good. You could keep up an intelligent conversation on the subject?"

"I believe I could."

"Then hand me that little box from the mantelpiece."

He opened the lid and took out a small object most carefully wrapped insome fine Eastern silk. This he unfolded, and disclosed a delicatelittle saucer of the most beautiful deep-blue colour.

"It needs careful handling, Watson. This is the real egg-shell potteryof the Ming dynasty. No finer piece ever passed through Christie's. Acomplete set of this would be worth a king's ransom--in fact, it isdoubtful if there is a complete set outside the imperial palace ofPeking. The sight of this would drive a real connoisseur wild."

"That is your name for the evening, Watson. You will call upon BaronGruner. I know something of his habits, and at half-past eight he wouldprobably be disengaged. A note will tell him in advance that you areabout to call, and you will say that you are bringing him a specimen ofan absolutely unique set of Ming china. You may as well be a medicalman, since that is a part which you can play without duplicity. You area collector this set has come your way, you have heard of the Baron'sinterest in the subject, and you are not averse to selling at a price."

"What price?"

"Well asked, Watson. You would certainly fall down badly if you did notknow the value of your own wares. This saucer was got for me by SirJames, and comes, I understand, from the collection of his client. Youwill not exaggerate if you say that it could hardly be matched in theworld."

"Oh, yes, he will see you. He has the collection mania in its mostacute form--and especially on this subject, on which he is anacknowledged authority. Sit down, Watson, and I will dictate theletter. No answer needed. You will merely say that you are coming, andwhy."

It was an admirable document, short, courteous, and stimulating to thecuriosity of the connoisseur. A district messenger was duly dispatchedwith it. On the same evening, with the precious saucer in my hand andthe card of Dr. Hill Barton in my pocket, I set off on my ownadventure.

The beautiful house and grounds indicated that Baron Gruner was, as SirJames had said, a man of considerable wealth. A long winding drive,with banks of rare shrubs on either side, opened out into a greatgravelled square adorned with statues. The place had been built by aSouth African gold king in the days of the great boom, and the long,low house with the turrets at the corners, though an architecturalnightmare, was imposing in its size and solidity. A butler, who wouldhave adorned a bench of bishops, showed me in and handed me over to aplush-clad footman, who ushered me into the Baron's presence.

He was standing at the open front of a great case which stood betweenthe windows and which contained part of his Chinese collection. Heturned as I entered with a small brown vase in his hand.

"Pray sit down, Doctor," said he. "I was looking over my own treasuresand wondering whether I could really afford to add to them. This littleTang specimen, which dates from the seventh century, would probablyinterest you. I am sure you never saw finer workmanship or a richerglaze. Have you the Ming saucer with you of which you spoke?"

I carefully unpacked it and handed it to him. He seated himself at hisdesk, pulled over the lamp, for it was growing dark, and set himself toexamine it. As he did so the yellow light beat upon his own features,and I was able to study them at my ease.

He was certainly a remarkably handsome man. His European reputation forbeauty was fully deserved. In figure he was not more than of middlesize, but was built upon graceful and active lines. His face wasswarthy, almost Oriental, with large, dark, languorous eyes which mighteasily hold an irresistible fascination for women. His hair andmoustache were raven black, the latter short, pointed, and carefullywaxed. His features were regular and pleasing, save only his straight,thin-lipped mouth. If ever I saw a murderer's mouth it was there--acruel, hard gash in the face, compressed, inexorable, and terrible. Hewas ill-advised to train his moustache away from it, for it wasNature's danger-signal, set as a warning to his victims. His voice wasengaging and his manners perfect. In age I should have put him atlittle over thirty, though his record afterwards showed that he wasforty-two.

"Very fine--very fine indeed!" he said at last. "And you say you havea set of six to correspond. What puzzles me is that I should not haveheard of such magnificent specimens. I only know of one in England tomatch this, and it is certainly not likely to be in the market. Wouldit be indiscreet if I were to ask you, Dr. Hill Barton, how youobtained this?"

"Does it really matter?" I asked with as careless an air as I couldmuster.

"You can see that the piece is genuine, and, as to the value, I amcontent to take an expert's valuation."

"Very mysterious," said he with a quick, suspicious flash of his darkeyes. "In dealing with objects of such value, one naturally wishes toknow all about the transaction. That the piece is genuine is certain. Ihave no doubts at all about that. But suppose--I am bound to takeevery possibility into account--that it should prove afterwards thatyou had no right to sell?"

"I would guarantee you against any claim of the son."

"That, of course, would open up the question as to what your guaranteewas worth."

"My bankers would answer that."

"Quite so. And yet the whole transaction strikes me as rather unusual."

"You can do business or not," said I with indifference. "I have givenyou the first offer as I understood that you were a connoisseur, but Ishall have no difficulty in other quaerers."

"Who told you I was a connoisseur?"

"I was aware that you had written a book upon the subject."

"Have you read the book?"

"No."

"Dear me, this becomes more and more difficult for me to understand!You are a connoisseur and collector with a very valuable piece in yourcollection, and yet you have never troubled to consult the one bookwhich would have told you of the real meaning and value of what youheld. How do you explain that?"

"I am a very busy man. I am a doctor in practice."

"That is no answer. If a man has a hobby he follows it up, whatever hisother pursuits may be. You said in your note that you were aconnoisseur."

"So I am."

"Might I ask you a few questions to test you? I am obliged to tell you,Doctor--if you are indeed a doctor--that the incident becomes moreand more suspicious. I would ask you what do you know of the EmperorShomu and how do you associate him with the Shoso-in near Nara? Dearme, does that puzzle you? Tell me a little about the Nonhern Weidynasty and its place in the history of ceramics."

I sprang from my chair in simulated anger.

"This is intolerable, sir," said I. "I came here to do you a favour,and not to be examined as if I were a schoolboy. My knowledge on thesesubjects may be second only to your own, but I certainly shall notanswer questions which have been put in so offensive a way."

He looked at me steadily. The languor had gone from his eyes. Theysuddenly glared. There was a gleam of teeth from between those cruellips.

"What is the game? You are here as a spy. You are an emissary ofHolmes. This is a trick that you are playing upon me. The fellow isdying I hear, so he sends his tools to keep watch upon me. You've madeyour way in here without leave, and, by God! you may find it harder toget out than to get in."

He had sprung to his feet, and I stepped back, bracing myself for anattack, for the man was beside himself with rage. He may have suspectedme from the first; certainly this cross-examination had shown him thetruth; but it was clear that I could not hope to deceive him. He divedhis hand into a side-drawer and rummaged furiously. Then somethingstruck upon his ear, for he stood listening intently.

"Ah!" he cried. "Ah!" and dashed into the room behind him.

Two steps took me to the open door, and my mind will ever carry a clearpicture of the scene within. The window leading out to the garden waswide open. Beside it, looking like some terrible ghost, his head ginwith bloody bandages, his face drawn and white, stood Sherlock Holmes.The next instant he was through the gap, and I heard the crash of hisbody among the laurel bushes outside. With a howl of rage the master ofthe house rushed after him to the open window.

And then! It was done in an instant, and yet I clearly saw it. An arm--a woman's arm--shot out from among the leaves. At the same instantthe Baron uttered a horrible cry--a yell which will always ring in mymemory. He clapped his two hands to his face and rushed round the room,beating his head horribly against the walls. Then he fell upon thecarpet, rolling and writhing, while scream after scream resoundedthrough the house.

"Water! For God's sake, water!" was his cry.

I seized a carafe from a side-table and rushed to his aid. At the samemoment the butler and several footmen ran in from the hall. I rememberthat one of them fainted as I knelt by the injured man and turned thatawful face to the light of the lamp. The vitriol was eating into iteverywhere and dripping from the ears and the chin. One eye was alreadywhite and glazed. The other was red and inflamed. The features which Ihad admired a few minutes before were now like some beautiful paintingover which the artist has passed a wet and foul sponge. They wereblurred, discoloured, inhuman, terrible.

In a few words I explained exactly what had occurred, so far as thevitriol attack was concerned. Some had climbed through the window andothers had rushed out on to the lawn, but it was dark and it had begunto rain. Between his screams the victim raged and raved against theavenger. "It was that hell-cat, Kitty Winter!" he cried. "Oh, theshe-devil! She shall pay for it! She shall pay! Oh, God in heaven, thispain is more than I can bear!"

I bathed his face in oil, put cotton wadding on the raw surfaces, andadministered a hypodermic of morphia. All suspicion of me had passedfrom his mind in the presence of this shock, and he clung to my handsas if I might have the power even yet to clear those dead-fish eyeswhich glazed up at me. I could have wept over the ruin had l notremembered very clearly the vile life which had led up to so hideous achange. It was loathsome to feel the pawing of his burning hands, and Iwas relieved when his family surgeon, closely followed by a specialist,came to relieve me of my charge. An inspector of police had alsoarrived, and to him I handed my real card. It would have been uselessas well as foolish to do otherwise, for I was nearly as well known bysight at the Yard as Holmes himself. Then I left that house of gloomand terror. Within an hour I was at Baker Street.

Holmes was seated in his familiar chair, looking very pale andexhausted. Apart from his injuries, even his iron nerves had beenshocked by the events of the evening, and he listened with horror to myaccount of the Baron's transformation.

"The wages of sin, Watson--the wages of sin!" said he. "Sooner orlater it will always come. God knows, there was sin enough," he added,taking up a brown volume from the table. "Here is the book the womantalked of. If this will not break off the marriage, nothing ever could.But it will, Watson. It must. No self-respecting woman could stand it."

"It is his love diary?"

"Or his lust diary. Call it what you will. The moment the woman told usof it I realized what a tremendous weapon was there if we could but layour hands on it. I said nothing at the time to indicate my thoughts,for this woman might have given it away. But I brooded over it. Thenthis assault upon me gave me the chance of letting the Baron think thatno precautions need be taken against me. That was all to the good. Iwould have waited a little longer, but his visit to America forced myhand. He would never have left so compromising a document behind him.Therefore we had to act at once. Burglary at night is impossible. Hetakes precautions. But there was a chance in the evening if I couldonly be sure that his attention was engaged. That was where you andyour blue saucer came in. But I had to be sure of the position of thebook, and I knew I had only a few minutes in which to act, for my timewas limited by your knowledge of Chinese pottery. Therefore I gatheredthe girl up at the last moment. How could I guess what the littlepacket was that she carried so carefully under her cloak? I thought shehad come altogether on my business, but it seems she had some of herown."

"He guessed I came from you."

"I feared he would. But you held him in play just long enough for me toget the book, though not long enough for an unobserved escape. Ah, SirJames, I am very glad you have come!"

Our courtly friend had appeared in answer to a previous summons. Helistened with the deepest attention to Holmes's account of what hadoccurred.

"You have done wonders--wonders!" he cried when he had heard thenarrative. "But if these injuries are as terrible as Dr. Watsondescribes, then surely our purpose of thwarting the marriage issufficiently gained without the use of this horrible book."

Holmes shook his head.

"Women of the De Merville type do not act like that. She would love himthe more as a disfigured martyr. No, no. It is his moral side, not hisphysical, which we have to destroy. That book will bring her back toearth--and I know nothing else that could. It is in his own writing.She cannot get past it."

Sir James carried away both it and the precious saucer. As I was myselfoverdue, I went down with him into the street. A brougham was waitingfor him. He sprang in, gave a hurried order to the cockaded coachman,and drove swiftly away. He flung his overcoat half out of the window tocover the armorial bearings upon the panel, but I had seen them in theglare of our fanlight none the less. I gasped with surprise. Then Iturned back and ascended the stair to Holmes's room.

"I have found out who our client is," I cried, bursting with my greatnews. "Why, Holmes, it is--"

"It is a loyal friend and a chivalrous gentleman," said Holmes, holdingup a restraining hand. "Let that now and forever be enough for us."

I do not know how the incriminating book was used. Sir James may havemanaged it. Or it is more probable that so delicate a task wasentrusted to the young lady's father. The effect, at any rate, was allthat could be desired.

Three days later appeared a paragraph in the Morning Post to say thatthe marriage between Baron Adelbert Gruner and Miss Violet de Mervillewould not take place. The same paper had the first police-court hearingof the proceedings against Miss Kitty Winter on the grave charge ofvitriol-throwing. Such extenuating circumstances came out in the trialthat the sentence, as will be remembered was the lowest that waspossible for such an offence. Sherlock Holmes was threatened with aprosecution for burglary, but when an object is good and a client issufficiently illustrious, even the rigid British law becomes human andelastic. My friend has not yet stood in the dock.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE BLANCHED SOLDIER

The ideas of my friend Watson, though limited, are exceedinglypertinacious. For a long time he has worried me to write an experienceof my own. Perhaps I have rather invited this persecution, since I haveoften had occasion to point out to him how superficial are his ownaccounts and to accuse him of pandering to popular taste instead ofconfining himself rigidly to facts and figures. "Try it yourself,Holmes!" he has retorted, and I am compelled to admit that, havingtaken my pen in my hand, I do begin to realize that the matter must bepresented in such a way as may interest the reader. The following casecan hardly fail to do so, as it is among the strangest happenings in mycollection though it chanced that Watson had no note of it in hiscollection. Speaking of my old friend and biographer, I would take thisopportunity to remark that if I burden myself with a companion in myvarious little inquiries it is not done out of sentiment or caprice,but it is that Watson has some remarkable characteristics of his own towhich in his modesty he has given small attention amid his exaggeratedestimates of my own performances. A confederate who foresees yourconclusions and course of action is always dangerous, but one to whomeach development comes as a perpetual surprise, and to whom the futureis always a closed book, is indeed an ideal helpmate.

I find from my notebook that it was in January, 1903, just after theconclusion of the Boer War, that I had my visit from Mr. James M. Dodd,a big, fresh, sunburned, upstanding Briton. The good Watson had at thattime deserted me for a wife, the only selfish action which I can recallin our association. I was alone.

It is my habit to sit with my back to the window and to place myvisitors in the opposite chair, where the light falls full upon them.Mr. James M. Dodd seemed somewhat at a loss how to begin the interview.I did not attempt to help him, for his silence gave me more time forobservation. I have found it wise to impress clients with a sense ofpower, and so I gave him some of my conclusions.

"From South Africa, sir, I perceive."

"Yes, sir," he answered, with some surprise.

"Imperial Yeomanry, I fancy."

"Exactly."

"Middlesex Corps, no doubt."

"That is so. Mr. Holmes, you are a wizard."

I smiled at his bewildered expression.

"When a gentleman of virile appearance enters my room with such tanupon his face as an English sun could never give, and with hishandkerchief in his sleeve instead of in his pocket, it is notdifficult to place him. You wear a short beard, which shows that youwere not a regular. You have the cut of a riding-man. As to Middlesex,your card has already shown me that you are a stockbroker fromThrogmorton Street. What other regiment would you join?"

"You see everything."

"I see no more than you, but I have trained myself to notice what Isee. However, Mr. Dodd, it was not to discuss the science ofobservation that you called upon me this morning. What has beenhappening at Tuxbury Old Park?"

"Mr. Holmes--!"

"My dear sir, there is no mystery. Your letter came with that heading,and as you fixed this appointment in very pressing terms it was clearthat something sudden and important had occurred."

"Yes, indeed. But the letter was written in the afternoon, and a gooddeal has happened since then. If Colonel Emsworth had not kicked me out--"

"Kicked you out!"

"Well, that was what it amounted to. He is a hard nail, is ColonelEmsworth. The greatest martinet in the Army in his day, and it was aday of rough language, too. I couldn't have stuck the colonel if it hadnot been for Godfrey's sake."

I lit my pipe and leaned back in my chair.

"Perhaps you will explain what you are talking about."

My client grinned mischievously.

"I had got into the way of supposing that you knew everything withoutbeing told," said he. "But I will give you the facts, and I hope to Godthat you will be able to tell me what they mean. I've been awake allnight puzzling my brain, and the more I think the more incredible doesit become.

"When I joined up in January, 1901--just two years ago--youngGodfrey Emsworth had joined the same squadron. He was ColonelEmsworth's only son--Emsworth the Crimean V. C.--and he had thefighting blood in him, so it is no wonder he volunteered. There was nota finer lad in the regiment. We formed a friendship--the sort offriendship which can only be made when one lives the same life andshares the same joys and sorrows. He was my mate--and that means agood deal in the Army. We took the rough and the smooth together for ayear of hard fighting. Then he was hit with a bullet from an elephantgun in the action near Diamond Hill outside-Pretoria. I got one letterfrom the hospital at Cape Town and one from Southampton. Since then nota word--not one word, Mr. Holmes, for six months and more, and he myclosest pal.

"Well, when the war was over, and we all got back, I wrote to hisfather and asked where Godfrey was. No answer. I waited a bit and thenI wrote again. This time I had a reply, short and gruff. Godfrey hadgone on a voyage round the world, and it was not likely that he wouldbe back for a year. That was all.

"I wasn't satisfied, Mr. Holmes. The whole thing seemed to me so damnedunnatural. He was a good lad, and he would not drop a pal like that. Itwas not like him. Then, again, I happened to know that he was heir to alot of money, and also that his father and he did not always hit it offtoo well. The old man was sometimes a bully, and young Godfrey had toomuch spirit to stand it. No, I wasn't satisfied, and I determined thatI would get to the root of the matter. It happened, however, that myown affairs needed a lot of straightening out, after two years'absence, and so it is only this week that I have been able to take upGodfrey's case again. But since I have taken it up I mean to dropeverything in order to see it through."

Mr. James M. Dodd appeared to be the sort of person whom it would bebetter to have as a friend than as an enemy. His blue eyes were sternand his square jaw had set hard as he spoke.

"Well, what have you done?" I asked.

"My first move was to get down to his home, Tuxbury Old Park, nearBedford, and to see for myself how the ground lay. I wrote to themother, therefore--I had had quite enough of the curmudgeon of afather--and I made a clean frontal attack: Godfrey was my chum, I hada great deal of interest which I might tell her of our commonexperiences, I should be in the neighbourhood, would there be anyobjection, et cetera? In reply I had quite an amiable answer from herand an offer to put me up for the night. That was what took me down onMonday.

"Tuxbury Old Hall is inaccessible--five miles from anywhere. Therewas no trap at the station, so I had to walk, carrying my suitcase, andit was nearly dark before I arrived. It is a great wandering house,standing in a considerable park. I should judge it was of all sorts ofages and styles, starting on a half-timbered Elizabethan foundation andending in a Victorian portico. Inside it was all panelling and tapestryand half-effaced old pictures, a house of shadows and mystery. Therewas a butler, old Ralph, who seemed about the same age as the house,and there was his wife, who might have been older. She had beenGodfrey's nurse, and I had heard him speak of her as second only to hismother in his affections, so I was drawn to her in spite of her queerappearance. The mother I liked also--a gentle little white mouse of awoman. It was only the colonel himself whom I barred.

"We had a bit of barney right away, and I should have walked back tothe station if I had not felt that it might be playing his game for meto do so. I was shown straight into his study, and there I found him, ahuge, bow-backed man with a smoky skin and a straggling gray beard,seated behind his littered desk. A red-veined nose jutted out like avulture's beak, and two fierce gray eyes glared at me from under tuftedbrows. I could understand now why Godfrey seldom spoke of his father.

"'Well, sir,' said he in a rasping voice, 'I should be interested toknow the real reasons for this visit.'

"I answered that I had explained them in my letter to his wife.

"'Yes, yes, you said that you had known Godfrey in Africa. We have, ofcourse, only your word for that.'

"'I have his letters to me in my pocket.'

"'Kindly let me see them.'

"He glanced at the two which I handed him, and then he tossed themback.

"'Well, what then?' he asked.

"'I was fond of your son Godfrey, sir. Many ties and memories unitedus. Is it not natural that I should wonder at his sudden silence andshould wish to know what has become of him?'

"'I have some recollections, sir, that I had already corresponded withyou and had told you what had become of him. He has gone upon a voyageround the world. His health was in a poor way after his Africanexperiences, and both his mother and I were of opinion that campleterest and change were needed. Kindly pass that explanation on to anyother friends who may be interested in the matter.'

"'Certainly,' I answered. 'But perhaps you would have the goodness tolet me have the name of the steamer and of the line by which he sailed,together with the date. I have no doubt that I should be able to get aletter through to him.'

"My request seemed both to puzzle and to irritate my host. His greateyebrows came down over his eyes, and he tapped his fingers impatientlyon the table. He looked up at last with the expression of one who hasseen his adversary make a dangerous move at chess, and has decided howto meet it.

"'Many people, Mr. Dodd,' said he, 'would take offence at yourinfernal pertinacity and would think that this insistence had reachedthe point of damned impertinence.'

"'You must put it down, sir, to my real love for your son.'

"'Exactly. I have already made every allowance upon that score. I mustask you, however, to drop these inquiries. Every family has its owninner knowledge and its own motives, which cannot always be made clearto outsiders, however well-intentioned. My wife is anxious to hearsomething of Godfrey's past which you are in a position to tell her,but I would ask you to let the present and the future alone. Suchinquiries serve no useful purpose, sir, and place us in a delicate anddifficult position.'

"So I came to a dead end, Mr. Holmes. There was no getting past it. Icould only pretend to accept the situation and register a vow inwardlythat I would never rest until my friend's fate had been cleared up. Itwas a dull evening. We dined quietly, the three of us, in a gloomy,faded old room. The lady questioned me eagerly about her son, but theold man seemed morose and depressed. I was so bored by the wholeproceeding that I made an excuse as soon as I decently could andretired to my bedroom. It was a large, bare room on the ground floor,as gloomy as the rest of the house, but after a year of sleeping uponthe veldt, Mr. Holmes, one is not too particular about one's quarters.I opened the curtains and looked out into the garden, remarking that itwas a fine night with a bright half-moon. Then I sat down by theroaring fire with the lamp on a table beside me, and endeavoured todistract my mind with a novel. I was interrupted, however, by Ralph,the old butler, who came in with a fresh supply of coals.

"'I thought you might run short in the night-time, sir. It is bitterweather and these rooms are cold.'

"He hesitated before leaving the room, and when I looked round he wasstanding facing me with a wistful look upon his wrinkled face.

"'Beg your pardon, sir, but I could not help hearing what you said ofyoung Master Godfrey at dinner. You know, sir, that my wife nursed him,and so I may say I am his foster-father. It's natural we should take aninterest. And you say he carried himself well, sir?'

"'There was no braver man in the regiment. He pulled me out once fromunder the rifles of the Boers, or maybe I should not be here.'

"The old butler rubbed his skinny hands.

"'Yes, sir, yes, that is Master Godfrey all over. He was alwayscourageous. There's not a tree in the park, sir, that he has notclimbed. Nothing would stop him. He was a fine boy--and oh, sir, hewas a fine man.'

"I sprang to my feet.

"'Look here!' I cried. 'You say he was. You speak as if he were dead.What is all this mystery? What has become of Godfrey Emsworth?'

"I gripped the old man by the shoulder, but he shrank away.

"'I don't know what you mean, sir. Ask the master about MasterGodfrey. He knows. It is not for me to interfere.'

"He was leaving the room, but I held his arm

"'Listen,' I said. 'You are going to answer one question before youleave if I have to hold you all night. Is Godfrey dead?"

"He could not face my eyes. He was like a man hypnotized The answer wasdragged from his lips. It was a terrible and unexpected one.

"'I wish to God he was!' he cried, and, tearing himself free he dashedfrom the room.

"You will think, Mr. Holmes, that I returned to my chair in no veryhappy state of mind. The old man's words seemed to me to bear only oneinterpretation. Clearly my poor friend had become involved in somecriminal or, at the least, disreputable transaction which touched thefamily honour. That stern old man had sent his son away and hidden himfrom the world lest some scandal should come to light. Godfrey was areckless fellow. He was easily influenced by those around him. No doubthe had fallen into bad hands and been misled to his ruin. It was apiteous business, if it was indeed so, but even now it was my duty tohunt him out and see if I could aid him. I was anxiously pondering thematter when I looked up, and there was Godfrey Emsworth standing beforeme."

My client had paused as one in deep emotion.

"Pray continue," I said. "Your problem presents some very unusualfeatures."

"He was outside the window, Mr. Holmes, with his face pressed againstthe glass. I have told you that I looked out at the night. When I didso I left the curtains partly open. His figure was framed in this gap.The window came down to the ground and I could see the whole length ofit, but it was his face which held my gaze. He was deadly pale--neverhave I seen a man so white. I reckon ghosts may look like that; but hiseyes met mine, and they were the eyes of a living man. He sprang backwhen he saw that I was looking at him, and he vanished into thedarkness.

"There was something shocking about the man, Mr. Holmes. It wasn'tmerely that ghastly face glimmering as white as cheese in the darkness.It was more subtle than that--something slinking, something furtive,something guilty--something very unlike the frank, manly lad that Ihad known. It left a feeling of horror in my mind.

"But when a man has been soldiering for a year or two with brother Boeras a playmate, he keeps his nerve and acts quickly. Godfrey had hardlyvanished before I was at the window. There was an awkward catch, and Iwas some little time before I could throw it up. Then I nipped throughand ran down the garden path in the direction that I thought he mighthave taken.

"It was a long path and the light was not very good, but it seemed tome something was moving ahead of me. I ran on and called his name, butit was no use. When I got to the end of the path there were severalothers branching in different directions to various outhouses. I stoodhesitating, and as I did so I heard distinctly the sound of a closingdoor. It was not behind me in the house, but ahead of me, somewhere inthe darkness. That was enough, Mr. Holmes, to assure me that what I hadseen was not a vision. Godfrey had run away from me, and he had shut adoor behind him. Of that I was certain.

"There was nothing more I could do, and I spent an uneasy night turningthe matter over in my mind and trying to find some theory which wouldcover the facts. Next day I found the colonel rather more conciliatory,and as his wife remarked that there were some places of interest in theneighbourhood, it gave me an opening to ask whether my presence for onemore night would incommode them. A somewhat grudging acquiescence fromthe old man gave me a clear day in which to make my observations. I wasalready perfectly convinced that Godfrey was in hiding somewhere near,but where and why remained to be solved.

"The house was so large and so rambling that a regiment might be hidaway in it and no one the wiser. If the secret lay there it wasdifficult for me to penetrate it. But the door which I had heard closewas certainly not in the house. I must explore the garden and see whatI could find. There was no difficulty in the way, for the old peoplewere busy in their own fashion and left me to my own devices.

"There were several small outhouses, but at the end of the garden therewas a detached building of some size--large enough for a gardener'sor a gamekeeper's residence. Could this be the place whence the soundof that shutting door had come? I approached it in a careless fashionas though I were strolling aimlessly round the grounds. As I did so, asmall, brisk, bearded man in a black coat and bowler hat--not at allthe gardener type--came out of the door. To my surprise, he locked itafter him and put the key in his pocket. Then he looked at me with somesurprise on his face.

"'Are you a visitor here?' he asked.

"I explained that I was and that I was a friend of Godfrey's.

"'What a pity that he should be away on his travels, for he would haveso liked to see me,' I continued.

"'Quite so. Exactly,' said he with a rather guilty air. 'No doubt youwill renew your visit at some more propitious time.' He passed on, butwhen I turned I observed that he was standing watching me,half-concealed by the laurels at the far end of the garden.

"I had a good look at the little house as I passed it, but the windowswere heavily curtained, and, so far as one could see, it was empty. Imight spoil my own game and even be ordered off the premises if I weretoo audacious, for I was still conscious that I was being watched.Therefore, I strolled back to the house and waited for night before Iwent on with my inquiry. When all was dark and quiet I slipped out ofmy window and made my way as silently as possible to the mysteriouslodge.

"I have said that it was heavily curtained, but now I found that thewindows were shuttered as well. Some light, however, was breakingthrough one of them, so I concentrated my attention upon this. I was inluck, for the curtain had not been quite closed, and there was a crackin the shutter, so that I could see the inside of the room. It was acheery place enough, a bright lamp and a blazing fire. Opposite to mewas seated the little man whom I had seen in the morning. He wassmoking a pipe and reading a paper."

"What paper?" I asked.

My client seemed annoyed at the interruption of his narrative.

"Can it matter?" he asked.

"It is most essential."

"I really took no notice."

"Possibly you observed whether it was a broad-leafed paper or of thatsmaller type which one associates with weeklies."

"Now that you mention it, it was not large. It might have been theSpectator. However, I had little thought to spare upon such details,for a second man was seated with his back to the window, and I couldswear that this second man was Godfrey. I could not see his face, but Iknew the familiar slope of his shoulders. He was leaning upon his elbowin an attitude of great melancholy, his body turned towards the fire. Iwas hesitating as to what I should do when there was a sharp tap on myshoulder, and there was Colonel Emsworth beside me.

"'This way, sir!' said he in a low voice. He walked in silence to thehouse, and I followed him into my own bedroom. He had picked up atime-table in the hall.

" There is a train to London at 8:30,' said he. 'The trap will be atthe door at eight.'

"He was white with rage, and, indeed, I felt myself in so difficult aposition that I could only stammer out a few incoherent apologies inwhich I tried to excuse myself by urging my anxiety for my friend.

"'The matter will not bear discussion,' said he abruptly. 'You havemade a most damnable intrusion into the privacy of our family. You werehere as a guest and you have become a spy. I have nothing more to say,sir, save that I have no wish ever to see you again.'

"At this I lost my temper, Mr. Holmes, and I spoke with some warmth.

"'I have seen your son, and I am convinced that for some reason ofyour own you are concealing him from the world. I have no idea whatyour motives are in cutting him off in this fashion, but I am sure thathe is no longer a free agent. I warn you, Colonel Emsworth, that untilI am assured as to the safety and well-being of my friend I shall neverdesist in my efforts to get to the bottom of the mystery, and I shallcertainly not allow myself to be intimidated by anything which you maysay or do.'

"The old fellow looked diabolical, and I really thought he was about toattack me. I have said that he was a gaunt, fierce old giant, andthough I am no weakling I might have been hard put to it to hold my ownagainst him. However, after a long glare of rage he turned upon hisheel and walked out of the room. For my part, I took the appointedtrain in the morning, with the full intention of coming straight to youand asking for your advice and assistance at the appointment for whichI had already written."

Such was the problem which my visitor laid before me. It presented, asthe astute reader will have already perceived, few difficulties in itssolution, for a very limited choice of alternatives must get to theroot of the matter. Still, elementary as it was, there were points ofinterest and novelty about it which may excuse my placing it uponrecord. I now proceeded, using my familiar method of logical analysis,to narrow down the possible solutions.

"The servants," I asked; "how many were in the house?"

"To the best of my belief there were only the old butler and his wife.They seemed to live in the simplest fashion."

"There was no servant, then, in the detached house?"

"None, unless the little man with the beard acted as such. He seemed,however, to be quite a superior person."

"That seems very suggestive. Had you any indication that food wasconveyed from the one house to the other?"

"Now that you mention it, I did see old Ralph carrying a basket downthe garden walk and going in the direction of this house. The idea offood did not occur to me at the moment."

"Did you make any local inquiries?"

"Yes, I did. I spoke to the station-master and also to the innkeeper inthe village. I simply asked if they knew anything of my old comrade,Godfrey Emsworth. Both of them assured me that he had gone for a voyageround the world. He had come home and then had almost at once startedoff again. The story was evidently universally accepted."

"You said nothing of your suspicions?"

"Nothing."

"That was very wise. The matter should certainly be inquired into. Iwill go back with you to Tuxbury Old Park."

"To-day?"

It happened that at the moment I was clearing up the case which myfriend Watson has described as that of the Abbey School, in which theDuke of Greyminster was so deeply involved. I had also a commissionfrom the Sultan of Turkey which called for immediate action, aspolitical consequences of the gravest kind might arise from itsneglect. Therefore it was not until the beginning of the next week, asmy diary records, that I was able to start forth on my mission toBedfordshire in company with Mr. James M. Dodd. As we drove to Eustonnwe picked up a grave and tacitum gentleman of iron-gray aspect, withwhom I had made the necessary arrangements.

"This is an old friend," said I to Dodd. "It is possible that hispresence may be entirely unnecessary, and, on the other hand, it may beessential. It is not necessary at the present stage to go further intothe matter."

The narratives of Watson have accustomed the reader, no doubt, to thefact that I do not waste words or disclose my thoughts while a case isactually under consideration. Dodd seemed surprised, but nothing morewas said, and the three of us continued our journey together. In thetrain I asked Dodd one more question which I wished our companion tohear.

"You say that you saw your friend's face quite clearly at the window,so clearly that you are sure of his identity?"

"I have no doubt about it whatever. His nose was pressed against theglass. The lamplight shone full upon him."

"It could not have been someone resembling him?"

"No, no, it was he."

"But you say he was changed?"

"Only in colour. His face was--how shall I describe it?--it was ofa fish-belly whiteness. It was bleached."

"Was it equally pale all over?"

"I think not. It was his brow which I saw so clearly as it was pressedagainst the window."

"Did you call to him?"

"I was too startled and horrified for the moment. Then I pursued him,as I have told you, but without result."

My case was practically complete, and there was only one small incidentneeded to round it off. When, after a considerable drive, we arrived atthe strange old rambling house which my client had described, it wasRalph, the elderly butler, who opened the door. I had requisitioned thecarriage for the day and had asked my elderly friend to remain withinit unless we should summon him. Ralph, a little wrinkled old fellow,was in the conventional costume of black coat and pepper-and-salttrousers, with only one curious variant. He wore brown leather gloves,which at sight of us he instantly shuffled off, laying them down on thehall-table as we passed in. I have, as my friend Watson may haveremarked, an abnormally acute set of senses, and a faint but incisivescent was apparent. It seemed to centre on the hall table. I turned,placed my hat there, knocked it off, stooped to pick it up, andcontrived to bring my nose within a foot of the gloves. Yes, it wasundoubtedly from them that the curious tarry odour was oozing. I passedon into the study with my case complete. Alas, that I should have toshow my hand so when I tell my own story! It was by concealing suchlinks in the chain that Watson was enabled to produce his meretriciousfinales.

Colonel Emsworth was not in his room, but he came quickly enough onreceipt of Ralph's message. We heard his quick, heavy step in thepassage. The door was flung open and he rushed in with bristling beardand twisted features, as terrible an old man as ever I have seen. Heheld our cards in his hand, and he tore them up and stamped on thefragments.

"Have I not told you, you infernal busybody, that you are warned offthe premises? Never dare to show your damned face here again. If youenter again without my leave I shall be within my rights if I useviolence. I'll shoot you, sir! By God, I will! As to you, sir," turningupon me, "I extend the same warning to you. I am familiar with yourignoble profession, but you must take your reputed talents to someother field. There is no opening for them here."

"I cannot leave here," said my client firmly, "until I hear fromGodfrey's own lips that he is under no restraint."

Our involuntary host rang the bell.

"Ralph," he said, "telephone down to the county police and ask theinspector to send up two constables. Tell him there are burglars in thehouse."

"One moment," said I. "You must be aware, Mr. Dodd, that ColonelEmsworth is within his rights and that we have no legal status withinhis house. On the other hand, he should recognize that your action isprompted entirely by solicitude for his son. I venture to hope that ifI were allowed to have five minutes conversation with Colonel EmsworthI could certainly alter his view of the matter."

"I am not so easily altered," said the old soldier. "Ralph, do what Ihave told you. What the devil are you waiting for? Ring up the police!"

"Nothing of the sort," I said, putting my back to the door. "Any policeinterference would bring about the very catastrophe which you dread." Itook out my notebook and scribbled one word upon a loose sheet. "That,"said I as I handed it to Colonel Emsworth, "is what has brought ushere."

He stared at the writing with a face from which every expression saveamazement had vanished.

"How do you know?" he gasped, sitting down heavily in his chair.

"It is my business to know things. That is my trade."

He sat in deep thought, his gaunt hand tugging at his straggling beard.Then he made a gesture of resignation.

"Well, if you wish to see Godfrey, you shall. It is no doing of mine,but you have forced my hand. Ralph, tell Mr. Godfrey and Mr. Kent thatin five minutes we shall be with them."

At the end of that time we passed down the garden path and foundourselves in front of the mystery house at the end. A small bearded manstood at the door with a look of considerable astonishment upon hisface.

"This is very sudden, Colonel Emsworth," said he. "This will disarrangeall our plans."

"Yes, he is waiting inside." He turned and led us into a large plainlyfurnished front room. A man was standing with his back to the fire, andat the sight of him my client sprang forward with outstretched hand.

His appearance was certainly extraordinary. One could see that he hadindeed been a handsome man with clear-cut features sunburned by anAfrican sun, but mottled in patches over this darker surface werecurious whitish patches which had bleached his skin.

"That's why I don't court visitors," said he. "I don't mind you,Jimmie, but I could have done without your friend. I suppose there issome good reason for it, but you have me at a disadvantage."

"I wanted to be sure that all was well with you, Godfrey. I saw youthat night when you looked into my window, and I could not let thematter rest till I had cleared things up."

"Old Ralph told me you were there, and I couldn't help taking a peep atyou. I hoped you would not have seen me, and I had to run to my burrowwhen I heard the window go up."

"But what in heaven's name is the matter?"

"Well, it's not a long story to tell," said he, lighting a cigarette."You remember that morning fight at Buffelsspruit, outside Pretoria, onthe Eastern railway line? You heard I was hit?"

"Yes, I heard that but I never got particulars."

"Three of us got separated from the others. It was very broken country,you may remember. There was Simpson--the fellow we called BaldySimpson--and Anderson, and I. We were clearing brother Boer, but helay low and got the three of us. The other two were killed. I got anelephant bullet through my shoulder. I stuck on to my horse, however,and he galloped several miles before I fainted and rolled off thesaddle.

"When I came to myself it was nightfall, and I raised myself up,feeling very weak and ill. To my surprise there was a house closebeside me, a fairly large house with a broad stoep and many windows. Itwas deadly cold. You remember the kind of numb cold which used to comeat evening, a deadly, sickening sort of cold, very different from acrisp healthy frost. Well, I was chilled to the bone, and my only hopeseemed to lie in reaching that house. I staggered to my feet anddragged myself along, hardly conscious of what I did. I have a dimmemory of slowly ascending the steps, entering a wide-opened door,passing into a large room which contained several beds, and throwingmyself down with a gasp of satisfaction upon one of them. It wasunmade, but that troubled me not at all. I drew the clothes over myshivering body and in a moment I was in a deep sleep.

"It was morning when I wakened, and it seemed to me that instead ofcoming out into a world of sanity I had emerged into some extraordinarynightmare. The African sun flooded through the big, curtainlesswindows, and every detail of the great, bare, whitewashed dormitorystood out hard and clear. In front of me was standing a small,dwarf-like man with a huge, bulbous head, who was jabbering excitedlyin Dutch, waving two horrible hands which looked to me like brownsponges. Behind him stood a group of people who seemed to be intenselyamused by the situation, but a chill came over me as I looked at them.Not one of them was a normal human being. Every one was twisted orswollen or disfigured in some strange way. The laughter of thesestrange monstrosities was a dreadful thing to hear.

"It seemed that none of them could speak English, but the situationwanted clearing up, for the creature with the big head was growingfuriously angry, and, uttering wild-beast cries, he had laid hisdeformed hands upon me and was dragging me out of bed, regardless ofthe fresh flow of blood from my wound. The little monster was as strongas a bull, and I don't know what he might have done to me had not anelderly man who was clearly in authority been attracted to the room bythe hubbub; He said a few stern words in Dutch, and my persecutorshrank away. Then he turned upon me, gazing at me in the utmostamazement.

"'How in the world did you come here?' he asked in amazement. 'Wait abit! I see that you are tired out and that wounded shoulder of yourswants looking after. I am a doctor, and I'll soon have you tied up.But, man alive! you are in far greater danger here than ever you wereon the battlefield. You are in the Leper Hospital, and you have sleptin a leper's bed.'

"Need I tell you more, Jimmie? It seems that in view of the approachingbattle all these poor creatures had been evacuated the day before.Then, as the British advanced, they had been brought back by this,their medical superintendent, who assured me that, though he believedhe was immune to the disease, he would none the less never have daredto do what I had done. He put me in a private room, treated me kindly,and within a week or so I was removed to the general hospital atPretoria.

"So there you have my tragedy. I hoped against hope, but it was notuntil I had reached home that the terrible signs which you see upon myface told me that I had not escaped. What was I to do? I was in thislonely house. We had two servants whom we could utterly trust. Therewas a house where I could live. Under pledge of secrecy, Mr. Kent, whois a surgeon, was prepared to stay with me. It seemed simple enough onthose lines. The alternative was a dreadful one--segregation for lifeamong strangers with never a hope of release. But absolute secrecy wasnecessary, or even in this quiet countryside there would have been anoutcry, and I should have been dragged to my horrible doom. Even you,Jimmie--even you had to be kept in the dark. Why my father hasrelented I cannot imagine."

Colonel Emsworth pointed to me.

"This is the gentleman who forced my hand." He unfolded the scrap ofpaper on which I had written the word "Leprosy." "It seemed to me thatif he knew so much as that it was safer that he should know all."

"And so it was," said I. "Who knows but good may come of it? Iunderstand that only Mr. Kent has seen the patient. May I ask, sir, ifyou are an authority on such complaints, which are, I understand,tropical or semi-tropical in their nature?"

"I have the ordinary knowledge of the educated medical man," heobserved with some stiffness.

"I have no doubt, sir, that you are fully competent, but I am sure thatyou will agree that in such a case a second opinion is valuable. Youhave avoided this, I understand, for fear that pressure should be putupon you to segregate the patient."

"That is so," said Colonel Emsworth.

"I foresaw this situation," I explained, "and I have brought with me afriend whose discretion may absolutely be trusted. I was able once todo him a professional service, and he is ready to advise as a friendrather than as a specialist. His name is Sir James Saunders."

The prospect of an interview with Lord Roberts would not have excitedgreater wonder and pleasure in a raw subaltern than was now reflectedupon the face of Mr. Kent.

"I shall indeed be proud," he murmured.

"Then I will ask Sir James to step this way. He is at present in thecarriage outside the door. Meanwhile, Colonel Emsworth, we may perhapsassemble in your study, where I could give the necessary explanations."

And here it is that I miss my Watson. By cunning questions andejaculations of wonder he could elevate my simple art, which is butsystematized common sense, into a prodigy. When I tell my own story Ihave no such aid. And yet I will give my process of thought even as Igave it to my small audience, which included Godfrey's mother in thestudy of Colonel Emsworth.

"That process," said I, "starts upon the supposition that when you haveeliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, howeverimprobable, must be the truth. It may well be that several explanationsremain, in which case one tries test after test until one or other ofthem has a convincing amount of support. We will now apply thisprinciple to the case in point. As it was first presented to me, therewere three possible explanations of the seclusion or incarceration ofthis gentleman in an outhouse of his father's mansion. There was theexplanation that he was in hiding for a crime, or that he was mad andthat they wished to avoid an asylum, or that he had some disease whichcaused his segregation. I could think of no other adequate solutions.These, then, had to be sifted and balanced against each other.

"The criminal solution would not bear inspection. No unsolved crime hadbeen reported from that district. I was sure of that. If it were somecrime not yet discovered, then clearly it would be to the interest ofthe family to get rid of the delinquent and send him abroad rather thankeep him concealed at home. I could see no explanation for such a lineof conduct.

"Insanity was more plausible. The presence of the second person in theouthouse suggested a keeper. The fact that he locked the door when hecame out strengthened the supposition and gave the idea of constraint.On the other hand, this constraint could not be severe or the young mancould not have got loose and come down to have a look at his friend.You will remember, Mr. Dodd, that I felt round for points, asking you,for example, about the paper which Mr. Kent was reading. Had it beenthe Lancet or the British Medical Journal it would have helped me. Itis not illegal, however, to keep a lunatic upon private premises solong as there is a qualified person in attendance and that theauthorities have been duly notified. Why, then, all this desperatedesire for secrecy? Once again I could not get the theory to fit thefacts.

"There remained the third possibility, into which, rare and unlikely asit was, everything seemed to fit. Leprosy is not uncommon in SouthAfrica. By some extraordinary chance this youth might have contractedit. His people would be placed in a very dreadful position, since theywould desire to save him from segregation. Great secrecy would beneeded to prevent rumours from getting about and subsequentinterference by the authorities. A devoted medical man, if sufficientlypaid, would easily be found to take charge of the sufferer. There wouldbe no reason why the latter should not be allowed freedom after dark.Bleaching of the skin is a common result of the disease. The case was astrong one--so strong that I determined to act as if it were actuallyproved. When on arriving here I noticed that Ralph, who carries out themeals, had gloves which are impregnated with disinfectants, my lastdoubts were removed. A single word showed you, sir, that your secretwas discovered, and if I wrote rather than said it, it was to prove toyou that my discretion was to be trusted."

I was finishing this little analysis of the case when the door wasopened and the austere figure of the great dermatologist was usheredin. But for once his sphinx-like features had relaxed and there was awarm humanity in his eyes. He strode up to Colonel Emsworth and shookhim by the hand.

"It is often my lot to bring ill-tidings and seldom good," said he."This occasion is the more welcome. It is not leprosy."

"What?"

"A well-marked case of pseudo-leprosy or ichthyosis, a scalelikeaffection of the skin, unsightly, obstinate, but possibly curable, andcertainly noninfective. Yes, Mr. Holmes, the coincidence is aremarkable one. But is it coincidence? Are there not subtle forces atwork of which we know little? Are we assured that the apprehension fromwhich this young man has no doubt suffered terribly since his exposureto its contagion may not produce a physical effect which simulates thatwhich it fears? At any rate, I pledge my professional reputation--Butthe lady has fainted! I think that Mr. Kent had better be with heruntil she recovers from this joyous shock."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE MAZARIN STONE

It was pleasant to Dr. Watson to find himself once more in the untidyroom of the first floor in Baker Street which had been thestarting-point of so many remarkable adventures. He looked round him atthe scientific charts upon the wall, the acid-charred bench ofchemicals, the violin-case leaning in the corner, the coal-scuttle,which contained of old the pipes and tobacco. Finally, his eyes cameround to the fresh and smiling face of Billy, the young but very wiseand tactful page, who had helped a little to fill up the gap ofloneliness and isolation which surrounded the saturnine figure of thegreat detective.

"It all seems very unchanged, Billy. You don't change, either. I hopethe same can be said of him?"

Billy glanced with some solicitude at the closed door of the bedroom.

"I think he's in bed and asleep," he said.

It was seven in the evening of a lovely summer's day, but Dr. Watsonwas sufficiently familiar with the irregularity of his old friend'shours to feel no surprise at the idea.

"That means a case, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir, he is very hard at it just now. I'm frightened for hishealth. He gets paler and thinner, and he eats nothing. 'When will yoube pleased to dine, Mr. Holmes?' Mrs. Hudson asked. 'Seven-thirty, theday after to-morrow,' said he. You know his way when he is keen on acase."

"Yes, Billy, I know."

"He's following someone. Yesterday he was out as a workman looking fora job. To-day he was an old woman. Fairly took me in, he did, and Iought to know his ways by now." Billy pointed with a grin to a verybaggy parasol which leaned against the sofa. "That's part of the oldwoman's outfit," he said.

"But what is it all about, Billy?"

Billy sank his voice, as one who discusses great secrets of State. "Idon't mind telling you, sir, but it should go no farther. It's thiscase of the Crown diamond."

"What--the hundred-thousand-pound burglary?"

"Yes, sir. They must get it back, sir. Why, we had the Prime Ministerand the Home Secretary both sitting on that very sofa. Mr. Holmes wasvery nice to them. He soon put them at their ease and promised he woulddo all he could. Then there is Lord Cantlemere--"

"Ah!"

"Yes, sir, you know what that means. He's a stiff'un, sir, if I may sayso. I can get along with the Prime Minister, and I've nothing againstthe Home Secretary, who seemed a civil, obliging sort of man, but Ican't stand his Lordship. Neither can Mr. Holmes, sir. You see, hedon't believe in Mr. Holmes and he was against employing him. He'drather he failed."

"And Mr. Holmes knows it?"

"Mr. Holmes always knows whatever there is to know."

"Well, we'll hope he won't fail and that Lord Cantlemere will beconfounded. But I say, Billy, what is that curtain for across thewindow?"

"Mr. Holmes had it put up there three days ago. We've got somethingfunny behind it."

Dr. Watson could not restrain a cry of amazement. There was a facsimileof his old friend, dressing-gown and all, the face turnedthree-quarters towards the window and downward, as though reading aninvisible book, while the body was sunk deep in an armchair. Billydetached the head and held it in the air.

"We put it at different angles, so that it may seem more lifelike. Iwouldn't dare touch it if the blind were not down. But when it's up youcan see this from across the way."

"We used something of the sort once before."

"Before my time," said Billy. He drew the window curtains apart andlooked out into the street. "There are folk who watch us from overyonder. I can see a fellow now at the window. Have a look foryourself."

Watson had taken a step forward when the bedroom door opened, and thelong, thin form of Holmes emerged, his face pale and drawn, but hisstep and bearing as active as ever. With a single spring he was at thewindow, and had drawn the blind once more.

"That will do, Billy," said he. "You were in danger of your life then,my boy, and I can't do without you just yet. Well, Watson, it is goodto see you in your old quarters once again. You come at a criticalmoment."

"So I gather."

"You can go, Billy. That boy is a problem, Watson. How far am Ijustified in allowing him to be in danger?"

"Danger of what, Holmes?"

"Of sudden death. I'm expecting something this evening."

"Expecting what?"

"To be murdered, Watson."

"No, no, you are joking, Holmes!"

"Even my limited sense of humour could evolve a better joke than that.But we may be comfortable in the meantime, may we not? Is alcoholpermitted? The gasogene and cigars are in the old place. Let me see youonce more in the customary armchair. You have not, I hope, learned todespise my pipe and my lamentable tobacco? It has to take the place offood these days."

"But why not eat?"

"Because the faculties become refined when you starve them. Why,surely, as a doctor, my dear Watson, you must admit that what yourdigestion gains in the way of blood supply is so much lost to thebrain. I am a brain, Watson. The rest of me is a mere appendix.Therefore, it is the brain I must consider."

"But this danger, Holmes?"

"Ah. yes, in case it should come off, it would perhaps be as well thatyou should burden your memory with the name and address of themurderer. You can give it to Scotland Yard, with my love and a partingblessing. Sylvius is the name--Count Negretto Sylvius. Write it down,man, write it down! 136 Moorside Gardens, N. W. Got it?"

Watson's honest face was twitching with anxiety. He knew only too wellthe immense risks taken by Holmes and was well aware that what he saidwas more likely to be under-statement than exaggeration. Watson wasalways the man of action, and he rose to the occasion.

"Count me in, Holmes. I have nothing to do for a day or two."

"Your morals don't improve, Watson. You have added fibbing to yourother vices. You bear every sign of the busy medical man, with calls onhim every hour."

"Not such important ones. But can't you have this fellow arrested?"

"Yes, Watson, I could. That's what worries him so."

"But why don't you?"

"Because I don't know where the diamond is."

"Ah! Billy told me--the missing Crown jewel!"

"Yes, the great yellow Mazarin stone. I've cast my net and I have myfish. But I have not got the stone. What is the use of taking them? Wecan make the world a better place by laying them by the heels. But thatis not what I am out for. It's the stone I want."

"And is this Count Sylvius one of your fish?"

"Yes, and he's a shark. He bites. The other is Sam Merton the boxer.Not a bad fellow, Sam, but the Count has used him. Sam's not a shark.He is a great big silly bull-headed gudgeon. But he is flopping aboutin my net all the same."

"Where is this Count Sylvius?"

"I've been at his very elbow all the morning. You've seen me as an oldlady, Watson. I was never more convincing. He actually picked up myparasol for me once. 'By your leave, madame,' said he--half-ltalian,you know, and with the Southern graces of manner when in the mood, buta devil incarnate in the other mood. Life is full of whimsicalhappenings, Watson."

"It might have been tragedy."

"Well, perhaps it might. I followed him to old Straubenzee's workshopin the Minories. Straubenzee made the air-gun--a very pretty bit ofwork, as I understand, and I rather fancy it is in the opposite windowat the present moment. Have you seen the dummy? Of course, Billy showedit to you. Well, it may get a bullet through its beautiful head at anymoment. Ah, Billy, what is it?"

The boy had reappeared in the room with a card upon a tray. Holmesglanced at it with raised eyebrows and an amused smile.

"The man himself. I had hardly expected this. Grasp the nettle, Watson!A man of nerve. Possibly you have heard of his reputation as a shooterof big game. It would indeed be a triumphant ending to his excellentsporting record if he added me to his bag. This is a proof that hefeels my toe very close behind his heel."

"Send for the police."

"I probably shall. But not just yet. Would you glance carefully out ofthe window, Watson, and see if anyone is hanging about in the street?"

Watson looked warily round the edge of the curtain.

"Yes, there is one rough fellow near the door."

"That will be Sam Merton--the faithful but rather fatuous Sam. Whereis this gentleman, Billy?"

"In the waiting-room, sir."

"Show him up when I ring."

"Yes, sir."

"If I am not in the room, show him in all the same."

"Yes, sir."

Watson waited until the door was closed, and then he turned earnestlyto his companion.

"Look here, Holmes, this is simply impossible. This is a desperate man,who sticks at nothing. He may have come to murder you."

"I should not be surprised."

"I insist upon staying with you."

"You would be horribly in the way."

"In his way?"

"No, my dear fellow--in my way."

"Well, I can't possibly leave you."

"Yes, you can, Watson. And you will, for you have never failed to playthe game. I am sure you will play it to the end. This man has come forhis own purpose, but he may stay for mine."

Holmes took out his notebook and scribbled a few lines. "Take a cab toScotland Yard and give this to Youghal of the C. I. D. Come back withthe police. The fellow's arrest will follow."

"I'll do that with joy.

"Before you return I may have just time enough to find out where thestone is." He touched the bell. "I think we will go out through thebedroom. This second exit is exceedingly useful. I rather want to seemy shark without his seeing me, and I have, as you will remember, myown way of doing it."

It was, therefore, an empty room into which Billy, a minute later,ushered Count Sylvius. The famous game-shot, sportsman, andman-about-town was a big, swarthy fellow, with a formidable darkmoustache shading a cruel, thin-lipped mouth, and surmounted by a long,curved nose like the beak of an eagle. He was well dressed, but hisbrilliant necktie, shining pin, and glittering rings were flamboyant intheir effect. As the door closed behind him he looked round him withfierce, startled eyes, like one who suspects a trap at every turn. Thenhe gave a violent start as he saw the impassive head and the collar ofthe dressing-gown which projected above the armchair in the window. Atfirst his expression was one of pure amazement. Then the light of ahorrible hope gleamed in his dark, murderous eyes. He took one moreglance round to see that there were no witnesses, and then, on tiptoe,his thick stick half raised, he approached the silent figure. He wascrouching for his final spring and blow when a cool, sardonic voicegreeted him from the open bedroom door:

"Don't break it, Count! Don't break it!"

The assassin staggered back, amazement in his convulsed face. For aninstant he half raised his loaded cane once more, as if he would turnhis violence from the effigy to the original; but there was somethingin that steady gray eye and mocking smile which caused his hand to sinkto his side.

"It's a pretty little thing," said Holmes, advancing towards the image."Tavernier, the French modeller, made it. He is as good at waxworks asyour friend Straubenzee is at air-guns."

"Air-guns, sir! What do you mean?"

"Put your hat and stick on the side-table. Thank you! Pray take a seat.Would you care to put your revolver out also? Oh, very good, if youprefer to sit upon it. Your visit is really most opportune, for Iwanted badly to have a few minutes' chat with you."

The Count scowled, with heavy, threatening eyebrows.

"I, too, wished to have some words with you, Holmes. That is why I amhere. I won't deny that I intended to assault you just now."

Holmes swung his leg on the edge of the table.

"I rather gathered that you had some idea of the sort in your head,"said he. "But why these personal attentions?"

"Because you have gone out of your way to annoy me. Because you haveput your creatures upon my track."

"My creatures! I assure you no!"

"Nonsense! I have had them followed. Two can play at that game,Holmes."

"It is a small point, Count Sylvius, but perhaps you would kindly giveme my prefix when you address me. You can understand that, with myroutine of work, I should find myself on familiar terms with half therogues' gallery, and you will agree that exceptions are invidious."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, then."

"Excellent! But I assure you you are mistaken about my alleged agents."

Count Sylvius laughed contemptuously.

"Other people can observe as well as you. Yesterday there was an oldsporting man. To-day it was an elderly woman. They held me in view allday."

"Really, sir, you compliment me. Old Baron Dowson said the night beforehe was hanged that in my case what the law had gained the stage hadlost. And now you give my little impersonations your kindly praise?"

"It was you--you yourself?"

Holmes shrugged his shoulders. "You can see in the corner the parasolwhich you so politely handed to me in the Minories before you began tosuspect."

"If I had known, you might never--"

"Have seen this humble home again. I was well aware of it. We all haveneglected opportunities to deplore. As it happens, you did not know, sohere we are!"

The Count's knotted brows gathered more heavily over his menacing eyes."What you say only makes the matter worse. It was not your agents butyour play-acting, busybody self! You admit that you have dogged me.Why?"

"Come now, Count. You used to shoot lions in Algeria."

"Well?"

"But why?"

"Why? The sport--the excitement--the danger!"

"And, no doubt, to free the country from a pest?"

"Exactly!"

"My reasons in a nutshell!"

The Count sprang to his feet, and his hand involuntarily moved back tohis hip-pocket.

"You knew that I was after you for that. The real reason why you arehere to-night is to find out how much I know about the matter and howfar my removal is absolutely essential. Well, I should say that, fromyour point of view, it is absolutely essential, for I know all aboutit, save only one thing, which you are about to tell me."

"Oh, indeed! And pray, what is this missing fact?"

"Where the Crown diamond now is."

The Count looked sharply at his companion. "Oh, you want to know that,do you? How the devil should I be able to lell you where it is?"

"You can, and you will."

"Indeed!"

"You can't bluff me, Count Sylvius." Holmes's eyes, as he gazed at him,contracted and lightened until they were like two menacing points ofsteel. "You are absolute plate-glass. I see to the very back of yourmind."

"Then, of course, you see where the diamond is!"

Holmes clapped his hands with amusement, and then pointed a derisivefinger. "Then you do know. You have admitted it!"

"I admit nothing."

"Now, Count, if you will be reasonable we can do business. If not, youwill get hurt."

Count Sylvius threw up his eyes to the ceiling. "And you talk aboutbluff!" said he.

Holmes looked at him thoughtfully like a master chess-player whomeditates his crowning move. Then he threw open the table drawer anddrew out a squat notebook.

"Do you know what I keep in this book?"

"No, sir, I do not!"

"You!"

"Me!"

"Yes, sir, you! You are all here--every action of yor vile anddangerous life."

"It's all here, Count. The real facts as to the death of old Mrs.Harold, who left you the Blymer estate, which you so rapidly gambledaway."

"You are dreaming!"

"And the complete life history of Miss Minnie Warrender."

"Tut! You will make nothing of that!"

"Plenty more here, Count. Here is the robbery in the train de-luxe tothe Riviera on February 13, 1892. Here is the forged check in the sameyear on the Credit Lyonnais."

"No, you're wrong there."

"Then I am right on the others! Now, Count, you are a card-player. Whenthe other fellow has all the trumps, it saves time to throw down yourhand."

"What has all this talk to do with the jewel of which you spoke?"

"Gently, Count. Restrain that eager mind! Let me get to the points inmy own humdrum fashion. I have all this against you; but, above all, Ihave a clear case against both you and your fighting bully in the caseof the Crown diamond."

"Indeed!"

"I have the cabman who took you to Whitehall and the cabman who broughtyou away. I have the commissionaire who saw you near the case. I haveIkey Sanders, who refused to cut it up for you. Ikey has peached, andthe game is up."

The veins stood out on the Count's forehead. His dark, hairy hands wereclenched in a convulsion of restrained emotion. He tried to speak, butthe words would not shape themselves.

"That's the hand I play from," said Holmes. "I put it all upon thetable. But one card is missing. It's the king of diamonds. I don't knowwhere the stone is."

"You never shall know."

"No? Now, be reasonable, Count. Consider the situation. You are goingto be locked up for twenty years. So is Sam Merton. What good are yougoing to get out of your diamond? None in the world. But if you hand itover--well, I'll compound a felony. We don't want you or Sam. We wantthe stone. Give that up, and so far as I am concerned you can go freeso long as you behave yourself in the future. If you make another slipwell, it will be the last. But this time my commission is to get thestone, not you."

"But if I refuse?"

"Why, then--alas!--it must be you and not the stone."

Billy had appeared in answer to a ring.

"I think, Count, that it would be as well to have your friend Sam atthis conference. After all, his interests should be represented. Billy,you will see a large and ugly gentleman outside the front door. Ask himto come up."

"If he won't come, sir?"

"No violence, Billy. Don't be rough with him. If you tell him thatCount Sylvius wants him he will certainly come."

"What are you going to do now?" asked the Count as Billy disappeared.

"My friend Watson was with me just now. I told him that I had a sharkand a gudgeon in my net; now I am drawing the net and up they cometogether."

The Count had risen from his chair, and his hand was behind his back.Holmes held something half protruding from the pocket of hisdressing-gown.

"You won't die in your bed, Holmes."

"I have often had the same idea. Does it matter very much? Aher all,Count, your own exit is more likely to be perpendicular thanhorizontal. But these anticipations of the future are morbid. Why notgive ourselves up to the unrestrained enjoyment of the present?"

A sudden wild-beast light sprang up in the dark, menacing eyes of themaster criminal. Holmes's figure seemed to grow taller as he grew tenseand ready.

"It is no use your fingering your revolver, my friend," he said in aquiet voice. "You know perfectly well that you dare not use it, even ifI gave you time to draw it. Nasty, noisy things, revolvers, Count.Better stick to air-guns. Ah! I think I hear the fairy footstep of yourestimable partner. Good day, Mr. Merton. Rather dull in the street, isit not?"

The prize-fighter, a heavily built young man with a stupid, obstinate,slab-sided face, stood awkwardly at the door, looking about him with apuzzled expression. Holmes's debonair manner was a new experience, andthough he vaguely felt that it was hostile, he did not know how tocounter it. He turned to his more astute comrade for help.

"What's the game now, Count? What's this fellow want? What's up?" Hisvoice was deep and raucous.

The Count shrugged his shoulders, and it was Holmes who answered.

"If I may put it in a nutshell, Mr. Merton, I should say it was allup."

The boxer still addressed his remarks to his associate.

"Is this cove trying to be funny, or what? I'm not in the funny moodmyself."

"No, I expect not," said Holmes. "I think I can promise you that youwill feel even less humorous as the evening advances. Now, look here,Count Sylvius. I'm a busy man and I can't waste time. I'm going intothat bedroom. Pray make yourselves quite at home in my absence. You canexplain to your friend how the matter lies without the restraint of mypresence. I shall try over the Hoffman 'Barcarole' upon my violin. Infive minutes I shall return for your final answer. You quite grasp thealternative, do you not? Shall we take you, or shall we have thestone?"

Holmes withdrew, picking up his violin from the corner as he passed. Afew moments later the long-drawn, wailing notes of that most hauntingof tunes came faintly through the closed door of the bedroom.

"What is it, then?" asked Merton anxiously as his companion turned tohim. "Does he know about the stone?"

"He knows a damned sight too much about it. I'm not sure that hedoesn't know all about it."

"Good Lord!" The boxer's sallow face turned a shade whiter.

"Ikey Sanders has split on us."

"He has, has he? I'll do him down a thick 'un for that if I swing forit."

"That won't help us much. We've got to make up our minds what to do."

"Half a mo'," said the boxer, looking suspiciously at the bedroom door."He's a leary cove that wants watching. I suppose he's not listening?"

"How can he be listening with that music going?"

"That's right. Maybe somebody's behind a curtain. Too many curtains inthis room." As he looked round he suddenly saw for the first time theeffigy in the window, and stood staring and pointing, too amazed forwords.

"Oh, confound the curtains! We are wasting our time, and there is nonetoo much. He can lag us over this stone."

"The deuce he can!"

"But he'll let us slip if we only tell him where the swag is."

"What! Give it up? Give up a hundred thousand quid?"

"It's one or the other."

Merton scratched his short-cropped pate.

"He's alone in there. Let's do him in. If his light were out we shouldhave nothing to fear."

The Count shook his head.

"He is armed and ready. If we shot him we could hardly get away in aplace like this. Besides, it's likely enough that the police knowwhatever evidence he has got. Hallo! What was that?"

There was a vague sound which seemed to come from the window. Both mensprang round, but all was quiet. Save for the one strange figure seatedin the chair, the room was certainly empty.

"Something in the street," said Merton. "Now look here, guv'nor, you'vegot the brains. Surely you can think a way out of it. If slugging is nouse then it's up to you."

"I've fooled better men than he," the Count answered. "The stone ishere in my secret pocket. I take no chances leaving it about. It can beout of England to-night and cut into four pieces in Amsterdam beforeSunday. He knows nothing of Van Seddar."

"I thought Van Seddar was going next week."

"He was. But now he must get off by the next boat. One or other of usmust slip round with the stone to Lime Street and tell him."

"But the false bottom ain't ready."

"Well, he must take it as it is and chance it. There's not a moment tolose." Again, with the sense of danger which becomes an instinct withthe sportsman, he paused and looked hard at the window. Yes, it wassurely from the street that the faint sound had come.

"As to Holmes," he continued, "we can fool him easily enough. You see,the damned fool won't arrest us if he can get the stone. Well, we'llpromise him the stone. We'll put him on the wrong track about it, andbefore he finds that it is the wrong track it will be in Holland and weout of the country."

"That sounds good to me!" cried Sam Merton with a grin.

"You go on and tell the Dutchman to get a move on him. I'll see thissucker and fill him up with a bogus confession. I'll tell him that thestone is in Liverpool. Confound that whining music; it gets on mynerves! By the time he finds it isn't in Liverpool it will be inquarters and we on the blue water. Come back here, out of a line withthat keyhole. Here is the stone."

"I wonder you dare carry it."

"Where could I have it safer? If we could take it out of Whitehallsomeone else could surely take it out of my lodgings."

"Let's have a look at it."

Count Sylvius cast a somewhat unflattering glance at his associate anddisregarded the unwashed hand which was extended towards him.

"What--d'ye think I'm going to snatch it off you? See here, mister,I'm getting a bit tired of your ways."

"Well, well, no offence, Sam. We can't afford to quarrel. Come over tothe window if you want to see the beauty properly. Now hold it to thelight! Here!"

"Thank you!"

With a single spring Holmes had leaped from the dummy's chair and hadgrasped the precious jewel. He held it now in one hand, while his otherpointed a revolver at the Count's head. The two villains staggered backin utter amazement. Before they had recovered Holmes had pressed theelectric bell.

"No violence, gentlemen--no violence, I beg of you! Consider thefurniture! It must be very clear to you that your position is animpossible one. The police are waiting below."

The Count's bewilderment overmastered his rage and fear.

"But how the deuce--?" he gasped.

"Your surprise is very natural. You are not aware that a second doorfrom my bedroom leads behind that curtain. I fancied that you must haveheard me when I displaced the figure, but luck was on my side. It gaveme a chance of listening to your racy conversation which would havebeen painfully constrained had you been aware of my presence."

The Count gave a gesture of resignation.

"We give you best, Holmes. I believe you are the devil himself."

"Not far from him, at any rate," Holmes answered with a polite smile.

Sam Merton's slow intellect had only gradually appreciated thesituation. Now, as the sound of heavy steps came from the stairsoutside, he broke silence at last.

"A fair cop!" said he. "But, I say, what about that bloomin' fiddle! Ihear it yet."

There was an inrush of police, the handcuffs clicked and the criminalswere led to the waiting cab. Watson lingered with Holmes,congratulating him upon this fresh leaf added to his laurels. Once moretheir conversation was interrupted by the imperturbable Billy with hiscard-tray.

"Lord Cantlemere sir."

"Show him up, Billy. This is the eminent peer who represents the veryhighest interests," said Holmes. "He is an excellent and loyal person,but rather of the old regime. Shall we make him unbend? Dare we ventureupon a slight liberty? He knows, we may conjecture, nothing of what hasoccurred."

The door opened to admit a thin, austere figure with a hatchet face anddrooping mid-Victorian whiskers of a glossy blackness which hardlycorresponded with the rounded shoulders and feeble gait. Holmesadvanced affably, and shook an unresponsive hand.

"How do you do, Lord Cantlemere? It is chilly for the time of year, butrather warm indoors. May I take your overcoat?"

"No, I thank you; I will not take it off."

Holmes laid his hand insistently upon the sleeve.

"Pray allow me! My friend Dr. Watson would assure you that thesechanges of temperature are most insidious."

His Lordship shook himself free with some impatience.

"I am quite comfortable, sir. I have no need to stay. I have simplylooked in to know how your self-appointed task was progressing."

"It is difficult--very difficult."

"I feared that you would find it so."

There was a distinct sneer in the old courtier's words and manner.

"Every man finds his limitations, Mr. Holmes, but at least it cures usof the weakness of self-satisfaction."

"Yes, sir, I have been much perplexed."

"No doubt."

"Especially upon one point. Possibly you could help me upon

"You apply for my advice rather late in the day. I thought that you hadyour own all-sufficient methods. Still, I am ready to help you."

"You see, Lord Cantlemere, we can no doubt frame a case against theactual thieves."

"When you have caught them."

"Exactly. But the question is--how shall we proceed against thereceiver?"

"Is this not rather premature?"

"It is as well to have our plans ready. Now, what would you regard asfinal evidence against the receiver?"

"The actual possession of the stone."

"You would arrest him upon that?"

"Most undoubtedly."

Holmes seldom laughed, but he got as near it as his old friend Watsoncould remember.

"In that case, my dear sir, I shall be under the painful necessity ofadvising your arrest."

Lord Cantlemere was very angry. Some of the ancient fires flickered upinto his sallow cheeks.

"You take a great liberty, Mr. Holmes. In fifty years of official lifeI cannot recall such a case. I am a busy man, sir engaged uponimportant affairs, and I have no time or taste for foolish jokes. I maytell you frankly, sir, that I have never been a believer in yourpowers, and that I have always been of the opinion that the matter wasfar safer in the hands of the regular police force. Your conductconfirms all my conclusions. I have the honour, sir, to wish yougood-evening."

Holmes had swiftly changed his position and was between the peer andthe door.

"One moment, sir," said he. "To actually go off with the Mazarin stonewould be a more serious offence than to be found in temporarypossession of it."

"Sir, this is intolerable! Let me pass."

"Put your hand in the right-hand pocket of your overcoat."

"What do you mean, sir?"

"Come--come, do what I ask."

An instant later the amazed peer was standing, blinking and stammering,with the great yellow stone on his shaking palm.

"What! What! How is this, Mr. Holmes?"

"Too bad, Lord Cantlemere, too bad!" cried Holmes. "My old friend herewill tell you that I have an impish habit of practical joking. Alsothat I can never resist a dramatic situation. I took the liberty--thevery great liberty, I admit--of putting the stone into your pocket atthe beginning of our interview."

The old peer stared from the stone to the smiling face before him.

"Sir, I am bewildered. But--yes--it is indeed the Mazarin stone. Weare greatly your debtors, Mr. Holmes. Your sense of humour may, as youadmit, be somewhat perverted, and its exhibition remarkably untimely,but at least I withdraw any reflection I have made upon your amazingprofessional powers. But how--"

"The case is but half finished; the details can wait. No doubt, LordCantlemere, your pleasure in telling of this successful result in theexalted circle to which you return will be some small atonement for mypractical joke. Billy, you will show his Lordship out, and tell Mrs.Hudson that I should be glad if she would send up dinner for two assoon as possible."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GABLES

I don't think that any of my adventures with Mr. Sherlock Holmes openedquite so abruptly, or so dramatically, as that which I associate withThe Three Gables. I had not seen Holmes for some days and had no ideaof the new channel into which his activities had been directed. He wasin a chatty mood that morning, however, and had just settled me intothe well-worn low armchair on one side of the fire, while he had curleddown with his pipe in his mouth upon the opposite chair, when ourvisitor arrived. If I had said that a mad bull had arrived it wouldgive a clearer impression of what occurred.

The door had flown open and a huge negro had burst into the room. Hewould have been a comic figure if he had not been terrific, for he wasdressed in a very loud gray check suit with a flowing salmon-colouredtie. His broad face and flattened nose were thrust forward, as hissullen dark eyes, with a smouldering gleam of malice in them, turnedfrom one of us to the other.

"Oh! it's fine, is it?" growled the savage. "It won't be so damn fineif I have to trim you up a bit. I've handled your kind before now, andthey didn't look fine when I was through with them. Look at that,Masser Holmes!"

He swung a huge knotted lump of a fist under my friend's nose. Holmesexamined it closely with an air of great interest.

"Were you born so?" he asked. "Or did it come by degrees?"

It may have been the icy coolness of my friend, or it may have been theslight clatter which I made as I picked up the poker. In any case, ourvisitor's manner became less flamboyant.

"Well, I've given you fair warnin'," said he. "I've a friend that'sinterested out Harrow way--you know what I'm meaning--and he don'tintend to have no buttin' in by you. Got that? You ain't the law, and Iain't the law either, and if you come in I'll be on hand also. Don'tyou forget it."

"I've wanted to meet you for some time," said Holmes. "I won't ask youto sit down, for I don't like the smell of you, but aren't you SteveDixie, the bruiser?"

"That's my name, Masser Holmes, and you'll get put through it for sureif you give me any lip."

"It is certainly the last thing you need," said Holmes, staring at ourvisitor's hideous mouth. "But it was the killing of young Perkinsoutside the Holborn--Bar What! you're not going?"

The negro had sprung back, and his face was leaden. "I won't listen tono such talk," said he. "What have I to do with this 'ere Perkins,Masser Holmes? I was trainin' at the Bull Ring in Birmingham when thisboy done gone get into trouble."

"Yes, you'll tell the magistrate about it, Steve," said Holmes. "I'vebeen watching you and Barney Stockdale--"

"Why, there ain't no secret about that, Masser Holmes. It was that samegen'l'man that you have just done gone mention."

"And who set him on to it?"

"S'elp me. I don't know, Masser Holmes. He just say, 'Steve, you go seeMr. Holmes, and tell him his life ain't safe if he go down Harrow way.'That's the whole truth." Without waiting for any further questioning,our visitor bolted out of the room almost as precipitately as he hadentered. Holmes knocked out the ashes of his pipe with a quiet chuckle.

"I am glad you were not forced to break his woolly head, Watson. Iobserved your manoeuvres with the poker. But he is really rather aharmless fellow, a great muscular, foolish, blustering baby, and easilycowed, as you have seen. He is one of the Spencer John gang and hastaken part in some dirty work of late which I may clear up when I havetime. His immediate principal, Barney, is a more astute person. Theyspecialize in assaults, intimidation, and the like. What I want to knowis, who is at the back of them on this particular occasion?"

"But why do they want to intimidate you?"

"It is this Harrow Weald case. It decides me to look into the matter,for if it is worth anyone's while to take so much trouble, there mustbe something in it."

"But what is it?"

"I was going to tell you when we had this comic interlude. Here is Mrs.Maberley's note. If you care to come with me we will wire her and goout at once."

DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES [I read]:

I have had a succession of strange incidents occur to me in connectionwith this house, and I should much value your advice. You would find meat home any time to-morrow. The house is within a short walk of theWeald Station. I believe that my late husband, Mortimer Maberley, wasone of your early clients.

Yours faithfully, MARY MABERLEY.

The address was "The Three Gables, Harrow Weald."

"So that's that!" said Holmes. "And now, if you can spare the time,Watson, we will get upon our way."

A short railway journey, and a shorter drive, brought us to the house,a brick and timber villa, standing in its own acre of undevelopedgrassland. Three small projections above. the upper windows made afeeble attempt to justify its name. Behind was a grove of melancholy,half-grown pines, and the whole aspect of the place was poor anddepressing. None the less, we found the house to be well furnished, andthe lady who received us was a most engaging elderly person, who boreevery mark of refinement and culture.

"I remember your husband well, madam," said Holmes, "though it is someyears since he used my services in some trifling matter."

"Probably you would be more familiar with the name of my son Douglas."

Holmes looked at her with great interest.

"Dear me! Are you the mother of Douglas Maberley? I knew him slightly.But of course all London knew him. What a magnificent creature he was!Where is he now?"

"Dead, Mr. Holmes, dead! He was attache at Rome, and he died there ofpneumonia last month."

"I am sorry. One could not connect death with such a man. I have neverknown anyone so vitally alive. He lived intensely--every fibre ofhim!"

"Too intensely, Mr. Holmes. That was the ruin of him. You remember himas he was--debonair and splendid. You did not see the moody, morose,brooding creature into which he developed. His heart was broken. In asingle month I seemed to see my gallant boy turn into a worn-outcynical man."

"A love affair--a woman?"

"Or a fiend. Well, it was not to talk of my poor lad that I asked youto come, Mr. Holmes."

"Dr. Watson and I are at your service."

"There have been some very strange happenings. I have been in thishouse more than a year now, and as I wished to lead a retired life Ihave seen little of my neighbours. Three days ago I had a call from aman who said that he was a house agent. He said that this house wouldexactly suit a client of his, and that if I would part with it moneywould be no object. It seemed to me very strange as there are severalempty houses on the market which appear to be equally eligible, butnaturally I was interested in what he said. I therefore named a pricewhich was five hundred pounds more than I gave. He at once closed withthe offer, but added that his client desired to buy the furniture aswell and would I put a price upon it. Some of this furniture is from myold home, and it is, as you see, very good, so that I named a goodround sum. To this also he at once agreed. I had always wanted totravel, and the bargain was so good a one that it really seemed that Ishould be my own mistress for the rest of my life.

"Yesterday the man arrived with the agreement all drawn out. Luckily Ishowed it to Mr. Sutro, my lawyer, who lives in Harrow. He said to me,'This is a very strange document. Are you aware that if you sign it youcould not legally take anything out of the house--not even your ownprivate possessions?' When the man came again in the evening I pointedthis out, and I said that I meant only to sell the furniture.

"'No, no, everything,' said he.

"'But my clothes? My jewels?'

"'Well, well, some concession might be made for your personal effects.But nothing shall go out of the house unchecked. My client is a veryliberal man, but he has his fads and his own way of doing things. It iseverything or nothing with him.'

"'Then it must be nothing,' said I. And there the matter was left, butthe whole thing seemed to me to be so unusual that I thought--"

Here we had a very extraordinary interruption.

Holmes raised his hand for silence. Then he strode across the room,flung open the door, and dragged in a great gaunt woman whom he hadseized by the shoulder. She entered with ungainly struggle like somehuge awkward chicken, torn, squawking, out of its coop.

"Leave me alone! What are you a-doin' of?" she screeched.

"Why, Susan, what is this?"

"Well, ma'am, I was comin' in to ask if the visitors was stayin' forlunch when this man jumped out at me."

"I have been listening to her for the last five minutes, but did notwish to interrupt your most interesting narrative. Just a littlewheezy, Susan, are you not? You breathe too heavily for that kind ofwork."

Susan turned a sulky but amazed face upon her captor. "Who be you,anyhow, and what right have you a-pullin' me about like this?"

"It was merely that I wished to ask a question in your presence. Didyou, Mrs. Maberley, mention to anyone that you were going to write tome and consult me?"

"No, Mr. Holmes, I did not."

"Who posted your letter?"

"Susan did."

"Exactly. Now, Susan, to whom was it that you wrote or sent a messageto say that your mistress was asking advice from me?"

"It's a lie. I sent no message."

"Now, Susan, wheezy people may not live long, you know. It's a wickedthing to tell fibs. Whom did you tell?"

"Susan!" cried her mistress, "I believe you are a bad, treacherouswoman. I remember now that I saw you speaking to someone over thehedge."

"That was my own business," said the woman sullenly.

"Suppose I tell you that it was Barney Stockdale to whom you spoke?"said Holmes.

"Well, if you know, what do you want to ask for?"

"I was not sure, but I know now. Well now, Susan, it will be worth tenpounds to you if you will tell me who is at the back of Barney."

"Someone that could lay down a thousand pounds for every ten you havein the world."

"So, a rich man? No; you smiled--a rich woman. Now we have got sofar, you may as well give the name and earn the tenner."

"I'll see you in hell first."

"Oh, Susan! Language!"

"I am clearing out of here. I've had enough of you all. I'll send formy box to-morrow." She flounced for the door.

"Good-bye, Susan. Paregoric is the stuff.... Now," he continued,turning suddenly from lively to severe when the door had closed behindthe flushed and angry woman, "this gang means business. Look how closethey play the game. Your letter to me had the 10 P.M. postmark. And yetSusan passes the word to Barney. Barney has time to go to his employerand get instructions; he or she--I incline to the latter from Susan'sgrin when she thought I had blundered--forms a plan. Black Steve iscalled in, and I am warned off by eleven o'clock next morning. That'squick work, you know."

"But what do they want?"

"Yes, that's the question. Who had the house before you?"

"A retired sea captain called Ferguson."

"Anything remarkable about him?"

"Not that ever I heard of."

"I was wondering whether he could have buried something. Of course,when people bury treasure nowadays they do it in the Post-Office bank.But there are always some lunatics about. It would be a dull worldwithout them. At first I thought of some buried valuable. But why, inthat case, should they want your furniture? You don't happen to have aRaphael or a first folio Shakespeare without knowing it?"

"No, I don't think I have anything rarer than a Crown Derby tea-set."

"That would hardly justify all this mystery. Besides, why should theynot openly state what they want? If they covet your tea-set, they cansurely offer a price for it without buying you out, lock, stock, andbarrel. No, as I read it, there is something which you do not know thatyou have, and which you would not give up if you did know."

"That is how I read it," said I.

"Dr. Watson agrees, so that settles it."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, what can it be?"

"Let us see whether by this purely mental analysis we can get it to afiner point. You have been in this house a year."

"Nearly two."

"All the better. During this long period no one wants anything fromyou. Now suddenly within three or four days you have urgent demands.What would you gather from that?"

"It can only mean," said I, "that the object, whatever it may be, hasonly just come into the house."

"Settled once again," said Holmes. "Now, Mrs. Maberley has any objectjust arrived?"

"No, I have bought nothing new this year."

"Indeed! That is very remarkable. Well, I think we had best let mattersdevelop a little further until we have clearer data. Is that lawyer ofyours a capable man?"

"Mr. Sutro is most capable."

"Have you another maid, or was the fair Susan, who has just banged yourfront door alone?"

"I have a young girl."

"Try and get Sutro to spend a night or two in the house. You mightpossibly want protection."

"Against whom?"

"Who knows? The matter is certainly obscure. If I can't find what theyare after, I must approach the matter from the other end and try to getat the principal. Did this house-agent man give any address?"

"I don't think we shall find him in the directory. Honest business mendon't conceal their place of business. Well, you will let me know anyfresh development. I have taken up your case, and you may rely upon itthat I shall see it through."

As we passed through the hall Holmes's eyes, which missed nothing,lighted upon several trunks and cases which were piled in a corner. Thelabels shone out upon them.

"'Milano.' 'Lucerne.' These are from Italy."

"They are poor Douglas's things."

"You have not unpacked them? How long have you had them?"

"They arrived last week."

"But you said--why, surely this might be the missing link. How do weknow that there is not something of value there?"

"There could not possibly be, Mr. Holmes. Poor Douglas had only his payand a small annuity. What could he have of value?"

Holmes was lost in thought.

"Delay no longer, Mrs. Maberley," he said at last. "Have these thingstaken upstairs to your bedroom. Examine them as soon as possible andsee what they cohtain. I will come tomorrow and hear your report."

It was quite evident that The Three Gables was under very closesurveillance, for as we came round the high hedge at the end of thelane there was the negro prize-fighter standing in the shadow. We cameon him quite suddenly, and a grim and menacing figure he looked in thatlonely place. Holmes clapped his hand to his pocket.

"Lookin' for your gun, Masser Holmes?"

"No, for my scent-bottle, Steve."

"You are funny, Masser Holmes, ain't you?"

"It won't be funny for you, Steve, if I get after you. I gave you fairwarning this morning."

"Well, Masser Holmes, I done gone think over what you said, and I don'twant no more talk about that affair of Masser Perkins. S'pose I canhelp you, Masser Holmes, I will."

"Well, just bear in mind, Steve, that the lady in that house, andeverything under that roof, is under my protection. Don't forget it."

"All right, Masser Holmes. I'll remember."

"I've got him thoroughly frightened for his own skin, Watson," Holmesremarked as we walked on. "I think he would double-cross his employerif he knew who he was. It was lucky I had some knowledge of the SpencerJohn crowd, and that Steve was one of them. Now, Watson, this is a casefor Langdale Pike, and I am going to see him now. When I get back I maybe clearer in the matter."

I saw no more of Holmes during the day, but I could well imagine how hespent it, for Langdale Pike was his human book of reference upon allmatters of social scandal. This strange, languid creature spent hiswaking hours in the bow window of a St. James's Street club and was thereceivingstation as well as the transmitter for all the gossip of themetropolis. He made, it was said, a four-figure income by theparagraphs which he contributed every week to the garbage papers whichcater to an inquisitive public. If ever, far down in the turbid depthsof London life, there was some strange swirl or eddy, it was markedwith automatic exactness by this human dial upon the surface. Holmesdiscreetly helped Langdale to knowledge, and on occasion was helped inturn.

When I met my friend in his room early next morning, I was consciousfrom his bearing that all was well, but none the less a most unpleasantsurprise was awaiting us. It took the shape of the following telegram.

Please come out at once. Client's house burgled in the night. Police inpossession.

SUTRO.

Holmes whistled. "The drama has come to a crisis, and quicker than Ihad expected. There is a great driving-power at the back of thisbusiness, Watson, which does not surprise me after what I have heard.This Sutro, of course, is her lawyer. I made a mistake, I fear, in notasking you to spend the night on guard. This fellow has clearly proveda broken reed. Well, there is nothing for it but another journey toHarrow Weald."

We found The Three Gables a very different establishment to the orderlyhousehold of the previous day. A small group of idlers had assembled atthe garden gate, while a couple of constables were examining thewindows and the geranium beds. Within we met a gray old gentleman, whointroduced himself as the lawyer together with a bustling, rubicundinspector, who greeted Hoimes as an old friend.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, no chance for you in this case, I'm afraid. Just acommon, ordinary burglary, and well within the capacity of the poor oldpolice. No experts need apply."

"I am sure the case is in very good hands," said Holmes. "Merely acommon burglary, you say?"

"Quite so. We know pretty well who the men are and where to find them.It is that gang of Barney Stockdale, with the big nigger in it--they've been seen about here."

"Excellent! What did they get?"

"Well, they don't seem to have got much. Mrs. Maberley was chloroformedand the house was--Ah! here is the lady herself."

Our friend of yesterday, looking very pale and ill, had entered theroom, leaning upon a little maidservant.

"You gave me good advice, Mr. Holmes," said she, smiling ruefully."Alas, I did not take it! I did not wish to trouble Mr. Sutro, and so Iwas unprotected."

"I only heard of it this morning," the lawyer explained.

"Mr. Holmes advised me to have some friend in the house. I neglectedhis advice, and I have paid for it."

"There is really so little to tell. I have no doubt that wicked Susanhad planned an entrance for them. They must have known the house to aninch. I was conscious for a moment of the chloroform rag which wasthrust over my mouth, but I have no notion how long I may have beensenseless. When I woke, one man was at the bedside and another wasrising with a bundle in his hand from among my son's baggage, which waspartially opened and littered over the floor. Before he could get awayI sprang up and seized him."

"You took a big risk," said the inspector.

"I clung to him, but he shook me off, and the other may have struck me,for I can remember no more. Mary the maid heard the noise and beganscreaming out of the window. That brought the police, but the rascalshad got away."

"What did they take?"

"Well, I don't think there is anything of value missing. I am surethere was nothing in my son's trunks."

"Did the men leave no clue?"

"There was one sheet of paper which I may have torn from the man that Igrasped. It was lying all crumpled on the floor. It is in my son'shandwriting."

"Which means that it is not of much use," said the inspector. "Now ifit had been in the burglar's--"

"Exactly," said Holmes. "What rugged common sense! None the less, Ishould be curious to see it."

The inspector drew a folded sheet of foolscap from his pocketbook.

"I never pass anything, however trifling," said he with some pomposity."That is my advice to you, Mr. Holmes. In twentyfive years' experienceI have learned my lesson. There is always the chance of finger-marks orsomething."

Holmes inspected the sheet of paper.

"What do you make of it, Inspector?"

"Seems to be the end of some queer novel, so far as I can see."

"It may certainly prove to be the end of a queer tale," said Holmes."You have noticed the number on the top of the page. It is two hundredand forty-five. Where are the odd two hundred and forty-four pages?"

"Well, I suppose the burglars got those. Much good may it do them!"

"It seems a queer thing to break into a house in order to steal suchpapers as that. Does it suggest anything to you, Inspector?"

"Yes, sir, it suggests that in their hurry the rascals just grabbed atwhat came first to hand. I wish them joy of what they got."

"Why should they go to my son's things?" asked Mrs. Maberley.

"Well, they found nothing valuable downstairs, so they tried their luckupstairs. That is how I read it. What do you make of it, Mr. Holmes?"

"I must think it over, Inspector. Come to the window, Watson." Then, aswe stood together, he read over the fragment of paper. It began in themiddle of a sentence and ran like this:

"...face bled considerably from the cuts and blows, but it was nothingto the bleeding of his heart as he saw that lovely face, the face forwhich he had been prepared to sacrifice his very life, looking out athis agony and humiliation. She smiled--yes, by Heaven! she smiled,like the heartless fiend she was, as he looked up at her. It was atthat moment that love died and hate was born. Man must live forsomething. If it is not for your embrace, my lady, then it shall surelybe for your undoing and my complete revenge."

"Queer grammar!" said Holmes with a smile as he handed the paper backto the inspector. "Did you notice how the 'he' suddenly changed to'my'? The writer was so carried away by his own story that he imaginedhimself at the supreme moment to be the hero."

"It seemed mighty poor stuff," said the inspector as he replaced it inhis book. "What! are you off, Mr. Holmes?"

"I don't think there is anything more for me to do now that the case isin such capable hands. By the way, Mrs. Maberley, did you say youwished to travel?"

"It has always been my dream, Mr. Holmes."

"Where would you like to go--Cairo, Madeira, the Riviera?"

"Oh if I had the money I would go round the world."

"Quite so. Round the world. Well, good-morning. I may drop you a linein the evening." As we passed the window I caught a glimpse of theinspector's smile and shake of the head. "These clever fellows havealways a touch of madness." That was what I read in the inspector'ssmile.

"Now, Watson, we are at the last lap of our little journey," saidHolmes when we were back in the roar of central London once more. "Ithink we had best clear the matter up at once, and it would be wellthat you should come with me, for it is safer to have a witness whenyou are dealing with such a lady as Isadora Klein."

We had taken a cab and were speeding to some address in GrosvenorSquare. Holmes had been sunk in thought, but he roused himselfsuddenly.

"By the way, Watson, I suppose you see it all clearly?"

"No, I can't say that I do. I only gather that we are going to see thelady who is behind all this mischief."

"Exactly! But does the name Isadora Klein convey nothing to you? Shewas, of course, the celebrated beauty. There was never a woman to touchher. She is pure Spanish, the real blood of the masterfuiConquistadors, and her people have been leaders in Pernambuco forgenerations. She married the aged German sugar king, Klein, andpresently found herself the richest as well as the most lovely widowupon earth. Then there was an interval of adventure when she pleasedher own tastes. She had several lovers, and Douglas Maberley, one ofthe most striking men in London, was one of them. It was by allaccounts more than an adventure with him. He was not a societybutterfly but a strong, proud man who gave and expected all. But she isthe 'belle dame sans merci' of fiction. When her caprice is satisfiedthe matter is ended, and if the other party in the matter can't takeher word for it she knows how to bring it home to him."

"Then that was his own story--"

"Ah! you are piecing it together now. I hear that she is about to marrythe young Duke of Lomond, who might almost be her son. His Grace's mamight overlook the age, but a big scandal would be a different matter,so it is imperative--Ah! here we are."

It was one of the finest corner-houses of the West End. A machine-likefootman took up our cards and returned with word that the lady was notat home. "Then we shall wait until she is," said Holmes cheerfully.

The machine broke down.

"Not at home means not at home to you," said the footman.

"Good," Holmes answered. "That means that we shall not have to wait.Kindly give this note to your mistress."

He scribbled three or four words upon a sheet of his notebook, foldedit, and handed it to the man.

"What did you say, Holmes?" I asked.

"I simply wrote: 'Shall it be the police, then?' I think that shouldpass us in."

It did--with amazing celerity. A minute later we were in an ArabianNights drawing-room, vast and wonderful, in a half gloom, picked outwith an occasional pink electric light. The lady had come, I felt, tothat time of life when even the proudest beauty finds the half lightmore welcome. She rose from a settee as we entered: tall, queenly, aperfect figure, a lovely mask-like face, with two wonderful Spanisheyes which looked murder at us both.

"What is this intrusion--and this insulting message?" she asked,holding up the slip of paper.

"I need not explain, madame. I have too much respect for yourintelligence to do so--though I confess that intelligence has beensurprisingly at fault of late."

"How so, sir?"

"By supposing that your hired bullies could frighten me from my work.Surely no man would take up my profession if it were not that dangerattracts him. It was you, then, who forced me to examine the case ofyoung Maberley."

"I have no idea what you are talking about. What have I to do withhired bullies?"

Holmes turned away wearily.

"Yes, I have underrated your intelligence. Well, good-afternoon!"

"Stop! Where are you going?"

"To Scotland Yard."

We had not got halfway to the door before she had overtaken us and washolding his arm. She had turned in a moment from steel to velvet.

"Come and sit down, gentlemen. Let us talk this matter over. I feelthat I may be frank with you, Mr. Holmes. You have the feelings of agentleman. How quick a woman's instinct is to find it out. I will treatyou as a friend."

"I cannot promise to reciprocate, madame. I am not the law, but Irepresent justice so far as my feeble powers go. I am ready to listen,and then I will tell you how I will act."

"No doubt it was foolish of me to threaten a brave man like yourself."

"What was really foolish, madame, is that you have placed yourself inthe power of a band of rascals who may blackmail or give you away."

"No, no! I am not so simple. Since I have promised to be frank, I maysay that no one, save Barney Stockdale and Susan, his wife, have theleast idea who their employer is. As to them, well, it is not the first--" She smiled and nodded with a charming coquettish intimacy.

"I see. You've tested them before."

"They are good hounds who run silent."

"Such hounds have a way sooner or later of biting the hand that feedsthem. They will be arrested for this burglary. The police are alreadyafter them."

"They will take what comes to them. That is what they are paid for. Ishall not appear in the matter."

"Unless I bring you into it."

"No, no, you would not. You are a gentleman. It is a woman's secret."

"In the first place, you must give back this manuscript."

She broke into a ripple of laughter and walked to the fireplace. Therewas a calcined mass which she broke up with the poker. "Shall I givethis back?" she asked. So roguish and exquisite did she look as shestood before us with a challenging smile that I felt of all Holmes'scriminals this was the one whom he would find it hardest to face.However, he was immune from sentiment.

"That seals your fate," he said coldly. "You are very prompt in youractions, madame, but you have overdone it on this occasion."

She threw the poker down with a clatter.

"How hard you are!" she cried. "May I tell you the whole story?"

"I fancy I could tell it to you."

"But you must look at it with my eyes, Mr. Holmes. You must realize itfrom the point of view of a woman who sees all her life's ambitionabout to be ruined at the last moment. Is such a woman to be blamed ifshe protects herself?"

"The original sin was yours."

"Yes, yes! I admit it. He was a dear boy, Douglas, but it so chancedthat he could not fit into my plans. He wanted marriage--marriage,Mr. Holmes--with a penniless commoner. Nothing less would serve him.Then he became pertinacious. Because I had given he seemed to thinkthat I still must give, and to him only. It was intolerable. At last Ihad to make him realize it."

"By hiring ruffians to beat him under your own window."

"You do indeed seem to know everything. Well, it is true. Barney andthe boys drove him away, and were, I admit, a little rough in doing so.But what did he do then? Could I have believed that a gentleman woulddo such an act? He wrote a book in which he described his own story. I,of course, was the wolf; he the lamb. It was all there, under differentnames, of course; but who in all London would have failed to recognizeit? What do you say to that, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, he was within his rights."

"It was as if the air of Italy had got into his blood and brought withit the old cruel Italian spirit. He wrote to me and sent me a copy ofhis book that I might have the torture of anticipation. There were twocopies, he said--one for me, one for his publisher."

"How did you know the publisher's had not reached him?"

"I knew who his publisher was. It is not his only novel, you know. Ifound out that he had not heard from Italy. Then came Douglas's suddendeath. So long as that other manuscript was in the world there was nosafety for me. Of course, it must be among his effects, and these wouldbe returned to his mother. I set the gang at work. One of them got intothe house as servant. I wanted to do the thing honestly. I really andtruly did. I was ready to buy the house and everything in it. I offeredany price she cared to ask. I only tried the other way when everythingelse had failed. Now, Mr. Holmes, granting that I was too hard onDouglas--and, God knows, I am sorry for it!--what else could I dowith my whole future at stake?"

Sherlock Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

"Well, well," said he, "I suppose I shall have to compound a felony asusual. How much does it cost to go round the world in first-classstyle?"

The lady stared in amazement.

"Could it be done on five thousand pounds?"

"Well, I should think so, indeed!"

"Very good. I think you will sign me a check for that, and I will seethat it comes to Mrs. Maberley. You owe her a little change of air.Meantime, lady"--he wagged a cautionary forefinger--"have a care!Have a care! You can't play with edged tools forever without cuttingthose dainty hands."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE SUSSEX VAMPIRE

Holmes had read carefully a note which the last post had brought him.Then, with the dry chuckle which was his nearest approach to a laugh,he tossed it over to me.

"For a mixture of the modern and the mediaeval, of the practical and ofthe wildly fanciful, I think this is surely the limit," said he. "Whatdo you make of it, Watson?"

I read as follows:

46, OLD JEWRY,Nov. 19th.

Re Vampires

SIR:

Our client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, of Ferguson and Muirhead, tea brokers, ofMincing Lane, has made some inquiry from us in a communication of evendate concerning vampires. As our firm specializes entirely upon theassessment of machinery the matter hardly comes within our purview, and wehave therefore recommended Mr. Ferguson to call uponyou and lay the matter before you. We have not forgotten your successfulaction in the case of Matilda Briggs.

We are, sir,

Faithfully yours,

MORRISON, MORRISON, AND DODD.

per E. J. C.

"Matilda Briggs was not the name of a young woman, Watson," said Holmesin a reminiscent voice. "It was a ship which is associated with thegiant rat of Sumatra, a story for which the world is not yet prepared.But what do we know about vampires? Does it come within our purvieweither? Anything is better than stagnation, but really we seem to havebeen switched on to a Grimms' fairy tale. Make a long arm, Watson, andsee what V has to say."

I leaned back and took down the great index volume to which hereferred. Holmes balanced it on his knee, and his eyes moved slowly andlovingly over the record of old cases, mixed with the accumulatedinformation of a lifetime.

"Voyage of the Gloria Scott," he read. "That was a bad business. I havesome recollection that you made a record of it, Watson, though I wasunable to congratulate you upon the result. Victor Lynch, the forger.Venomous lizard or gila. Remarkable case, that! Vittoria, the circusbelle. Vanderbilt and the Yeggman. Vipers. Vigor, the Hammersmithwonder. Hullo! Hullo! Good old index. You can't beat it. Listen tothis, Watson. Vampirism in Hungary. And again, Vampires inTransylvania." He turned over the pages with eagerness, but after ashort intent perusal he threw down the great book with a snarl ofdisappointment.

"Rubbish, Watson, rubbish! What have we to do with walking corpses whocan only be held in their grave by stakes driven through their hearts?It's pure lunacy."

"But surely," said I, "the vampire was not necessarily a dead man? Aliving person might have the habit. I have read, for example, of theold sucking the blood of the young in order to retain their youth."

"You are right, Watson. It mentions the legend in one of thesereferences. But are we to give serious attention to such things? Thisagency stands flat-footed upon the ground, and there it must remain.The world is big enough for us. No ghosts need apply. I fear that wecannot take Mr. Robert Ferguson very seriously. Possibly this note maybe from him and may throw some light upon what is worrying him."

He took up a second letter which had lain unnoticed upon the tablewhile he had been absorbed with the first. This he began to read with asmile of amusement upon his face which gradually faded away into anexpression of intense interest and concentration. When he had finishedhe sat for some little time lost in thought with the letter danglingfrom his fingers. Finally, with a start, he aroused himself from hisreverie.

"Cheeseman's, Lamberley. Where is Lamberley, Watson?"

"It is in Sussex, South of Horsham."

"Not very far, eh? And Cheeseman's?"

"I know that country, Holmes. It is full of old houses which are namedafter the men who built them centuries ago. You get Odley's andHarvey's and Carriton's--the folk are forgotten but their names livein their houses."

"Precisely," said Holmes coldly. It was one of the peculiarities of hisproud, self-contained nature that though he docketed any freshinformation very quietly and accurately in his brain, he seldom madeany acknowledgment to the giver. "I rather fancy we shall know a gooddeal more about Cheeseman's, Lamberley, before we are through. Theletter is, as I had hoped, from Robert Ferguson. By the way, he claimsacquaintance with you."

"With me!"

"You had better read it."

He handed the letter across. It was headed with the address quoted.

DEAR MR HOLMES [it said]:

I have been recommended to you by my lawyers, but indeed the matter is soextraordinarily delicate that it is most difficult to discuss. It concernsa friend for whom I am acting. This gentleman married some five years agoa Peruvian lady the daughter of a Peruvian merchant, whom he had met inconnection with the importation of nitrates. The lady was very beautiful,but the fact of her foreign birth and of her alien religion always causeda separation of interests and of feelings between husband and wife, sothat after a time his love may have cooled towards her and he may havecome to regard their union as a mistake. He felt there were sides of hercharacter which he could never explore or understand. This was the morepainful as she was as loving a wife as a man could have--to all appearanceabsolutely devoted.

Now for the point which I will make more plain when we meet. Indeed, thisnote is merely to give you a general idea of the situation and toascertain whether you would care to interest yourself in the matter. Thelady began to show some curious traits quite alien to her ordinarily sweetand gentle disposition. The gentleman had been married twice and he hadone son by the first wife. This boy was now fifteen, a very charming andaffectionate youth, though unhappily injured through an accident inchildhood. Twice the wife was caught in the act of assaulting this poorlad in the most unprovoked way. Once she struck him with a stick and lefta great weal on his arm. This was a small matter, however, compared withher conduct to her own child, a dear boy just under one year of age. Onone occasion about a month ago this child had been left by its nurse fora few minutes. A loud cry from the baby, as of pain, called the nurseback. As she ran into the room she saw her employer, the lady, leaningover the baby and apparently biting his neck. There was a small wound inthe neck from which a stream of blood had escaped. The nurse was sohorrified that she wished to call the husband, but the lady implored hernot to do so and actually gave her five pounds as a price for her silence.No explanation was ever given, and for the moment the matter was passedover. It left, however, a terrible impression upon the nurse's mind, andfrom that time she began to watch her mistress closely and to keep acloser guard upon the baby, whom she tenderly loved. It seemed to her thateven as she watched the mother, so the mother watched her, and that everytime she was compelled to leave the baby alone the mother was waiting toget at it. Day and night the nurse covered the child, and day and nightthe silent, watchful mother seemed to be lying in wait as a wolf waits fora lamb. It must read most incredible to you, and yet I beg you to take itseriously, for a child's life and a man's sanity may depend upon it.

At last there came one dreadful day when the facts could no longer beconcealed from the husband. The nurse's nerve had given way; she couldstand the strain no longer, and she made a clean breast of it all to theman. To him it seemed as wild a tale as it may now seem to you. He knewhis wife to be a loving wife, and, save for the assaults upon her stepson,a loving mother. Why, then, should she wound her own dear little baby?He told the nurse that she was dreaming, that her suspicions were those ofa lunatic, and that such libels upon her mistress were not to betolerated. While they were talking a sudden cry of pain was heard. Nurseand master rushed together to the nursery. Imagine his feelings,Mr. Holmes, as he saw his wife rise from a kneeling position beside thecot and saw blood upon the child's exposed neck and upon the sheet. With acry of horror, he turned his wife's face to the light and saw blood allround her lips. It was she--she beyond all question--who had drunk thepoor baby's blood. So the matter stands. She is now confined to her room.There has been no explanation. The husband is half demented. He knows,and I know, little of vampirism beyond the name. We had thought it wassome wild tale of foreign parts. And yet here in the very heart of theEnglish Sussex--well, all this can be discussed with you in the morning.Will you see me? Will you use your great powers in aiding a distractedman? If so, kindly wire to Ferguson, Cheeseman's, Lamberley, and I will beat your rooms by ten o'clock.

Yours faithfully,

ROBERT FERGUSON.

P. S. I believe your friend Watson played Rugby for Blackheath when I wasthree-quarter for Richmond. It is the only personal introduction which Ican give.

"Of course I remembered him," said I as I laid down the letter. "BigBob Ferguson, the finest three-quarter Richmond ever had. He was alwaysa good-natured chap. It's like him to be so concerned over a friend'scase."

Holmes looked at me thoughtfully and shook his head.

"I never get your limits, Watson," said he. "There are unexploredpossibilities about you. Take a wire down, like a good fellow. 'Willexamine your case with pleasure.'"

"Your case!"

"We must not let him think that this agency is a home for theweak-minded. Of course it is his case. Send him that wire and let thematter rest till morning."

Promptly at ten o'clock next morning Ferguson strode into our room. Ihad remembered him as a long, slab-sided man with loose limbs and afine turn of speed which had carried him round many an opposing back.There is surely nothing in life more painful than to meet the wreck ofa fine athlete whom one has known in his prime. His great frame hadfallen in, his flaxen hair was scanty, and his shoulders were bowed. Ifear that I roused corresponding emotions in him.

"Hullo, Watson," said he, and his voice was still deep and hearty. "Youdon't look quite the man you did when I threw you over the ropes intothe crowd at the Old Deer Park. I expect I have changed a bit also. Butit's this last day or two that has aged me. I see by your telegram, Mr.Holmes, that it is no use my pretending to be anyone's deputy.".

"It is simpler to deal direct," said Holmes.

"Of course it is. But you can imagine how difficult it is when you arespeaking of the one woman whom you are bound to protect and help. Whatcan I do? How am I to go to the police with such a story? And yet thekiddies have got to be protected. Is it madness, Mr. Holmes? Is itsomething in the blood? Have you any similar case in your experience?For God's sake, give me some advice, for I am at my wit's end."

"Very naturally, Mr. Ferguson. Now sit here and pull yourself togetherand give me a few clear answers. I can assure you that I am very farfrom being at my wit's end, and that I am confident we shall find somesolution. First of all, tell me what steps you have taken. Is your wifestill near the children?"

"We had a dreadful scene. She is a most loving woman, Mr. Holmes. Ifever a woman loved a man with all her heart and soul, she loves me. Shewas cut to the heart that I should have discovered this horrible, thisincredible, secret. She would not even speak. She gave no answer to myreproaches, save to gaze at me with a sort of wild, despairing look inher eyes. Then she rushed to her room and locked herself in. Since thenshe has refused to see me. She has a maid who was with her before hermarriage, Dolores by name--a friend rather than a servant. She takesher food to her."

"Then the child is in no immediate danger?"

"Mrs. Mason, the nurse, has sworn that she will not leave it night orday. I can absolutely trust her. I am more uneasy about poor littleJack, for, as I told you in my note, he has twice been assaulted byher."

"But never wounded?"

"No, she struck him savagely. It is the more terrible as he is a poorlittle inoffensive cripple." Ferguson's gaunt features softened as hespoke of his boy. "You would think that the dear lad's condition wouldsoften anyone's heart. A fall in childhood and a twisted spine, Mr.Holmes. But the dearest, most loving heart within."

Holmes had picked up the letter of yesterday and was reading it over."What other inmates are there in your house, Mr. Ferguson?"

"Two servants who have not been long with us. One stablehand, Michael,who sleeps in the house. My wife, myself, my boy Jack, baby, Dolores,and Mrs. Mason. That is all."

"I gather that you did not know your wife well at the time of yourmarriage?"

"I had only known her a few weeks."

"How long had this maid Dolores been with her?"

"Some years."

"Then your wife's character would really be better known by Doloresthan by you?"

"Yes, you may say so."

Holmes made a note.

"I fancy," said he, "that I may be of more use at Lamberley than here.It is eminently a case for personal investigation. If the lady remainsin her room, our presence could not annoy or inconvenience her. Ofcourse, we would stay at the inn."

Ferguson gave a gesture of relief.

"It is what I hoped, Mr. Holmes. There is an excellent train at twofrom Victoria if you could come."

"Of course we could come. There is a lull at present. I can give you myundivided energies. Watson, of course, comes with us. But there are oneor two points upon which I wish to be very sure before I start. Thisunhappy lady, as I understand it, has appeared to assault both thechildren, her own baby and your little son?"

"That is so."

"But the assaults take different forms, do they not? She has beatenyour son."

"Once with a stick and once very savagely with her hands."

"Did she give no explanation why she struck him?"

"None save that she hated him. Again and again she said so."

"Well, that is not unknown among stepmothers. A posthumous jealousy, wewill say. Is the lady jealous by nature?"

"Yes, she is very jealous--jealous with all the strength of her fierytropical love."

"But the boy--he is fifteen, I understand, and probably verydeveloped in mind, since his body has been circumscribed in action. Didhe give you no explanation of these assaults?"

"No, he declared there was no reason."

"Were they good friends at other times?"

"No, there was never any love between them."

"Yet you say he is affectionate?"

"Never in the world could there be so devoted a son. My life is hislife. He is absorbed in what I say or do."

Once again Holmes made a note. For some time he sat lost in thought.

"No doubt you and the boy were great comrades before this secondmarriage. You were thrown very close together, were you not?"

"Very much so."

"And the boy, having so affectionate a nature, was devoted, no doubt,to the memory of his mother?"

"Most devoted."

"He would certainly seem to be a most interesting lad. There is oneother point about these assaults. Were the strange attacks upon thebaby and the assaults upon yow son at the same period?"

"In the first case it was so. It was as if some frenzy had seized her,and she had vented her rage upon both. In the second case it was onlyJack who suffered. Mrs. Mason had no complaint to make about the baby."

"That certainly complicates matters."

"I don't quite follow you, Mr. Holmes."

"Possibly not. One forms provisional theories and waits for time orfuller knowledge to explode them. A bad habit, Mr. Ferguson, but humannature is weak. I fear that your old friend here has given anexaggerated view of my scientific methods. However, I will only say atthe present stage that your problem does not appear to me to beinsoluble, and that you may expect to find us at Victoria at twoo'clock."

It was evening of a dull, foggy November day when, having left our bagsat the Chequers, Lamberley, we drove through the Sussex clay of a longwinding lane and finally reached the isolated and ancient farmhouse inwhich Ferguson dwelt. It was a large, straggling building, very old inthe centre, very new at the wings with towering Tudor chimneys and alichen-spotted, high-pitched roof of Horsham slabs. The doorsteps wereworn into curves, and the ancient tiles which lined the porch weremarked with the rebus of a cheese and a man after the original builder.Within, the ceilings were corrugated with heavy oaken beams, and theuneven floors sagged into sharp curves. An odour of age and decaypervaded the whole crumbling building.

There was one very large central room into which Ferguson led us. Here,in a huge old-fashioned fireplace with an iron screen behind it dated1670, there blazed and spluttered a splendid log fire.

The room, as I gazed round, was a most singular mixture of dates and ofplaces. The half-panelled walls may well have belonged to the originalyeoman farmer of the seventeenth century. They were ornamented,however, on the lower part by a line of well-chosen modernwater-colours; while above, where yellow plaster took the place of oak,there was hung a fine collection of South American utensils andweapons, which had been brought, no doubt, by the Peruvian ladyupstairs. Holmes rose, with that quick curiosity which sprang from hiseager mind, and examined them with some care. He returned with his eyesfull of thought.

"Hullo!" he cried. "Hullo!"

A spaniel had lain in a basket in the corner. It came slowly forwardtowards its master, walking with difficulty. Its hind legs movedirregularly and its tail was on the ground. It licked Ferguson's hand.

"What is it, Mr. Holmes?"

"The dog. What's the matter with it?"

"That's what puzzled the vet. A sort of paralysis. Spinal meningitis,he thought. But it is passing. He'll be all right soon--won't you,Carlo?"

A shiver of assent passed through the drooping tail. The dog's mournfuleyes passed from one of us to the other. He knew that we werediscussing his case.

"Did it come on suddenly?"

"In a single night."

"How long ago?"

"It may have been four months ago."

"Very remarkable. Very suggestive."

"What do you see in it, Mr. Holmes?"

"A confirmation of what I had already thought."

"For God's sake, what do you think, Mr. Holmes? It may be a mereintellectual puzzle to you, but it is life and death to me! My wife awould-be murderer--my child in constant danger! Don't play with me,Mr. Holmes. It is too terribly serious."

The big Rugby three-quarter was trembling all over. Holmes put his handsoothingly upon his arm.

"I fear that there is pain for you, Mr. Ferguson, whatever the solutionmay be," said he. "I would spare you all I can. I cannot say more forthe instant, but before I leave this house I hope I may have somethingdefinite."

"Please God you may! If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I will go up tomy wife's room and see if there has been any change."

He was away some minutes, during which Holmes resumed his examinationof the curiosities upon the wall. When our host returned it was clearfrom his downcast face that he had made no progress. He brought withhim a tall, slim, brown-faced girl.

"The tea is ready, Dolores," said Ferguson. "See that your mistress haseverything she can wish."

"She verra ill," cried the girl, looking with indignant eyes at hermaster. "She no ask for food. She verra ill. She need doctor. Ifrightened stay alone with her without doctor."

Ferguson looked at me with a question in his eyes.

"I should be so glad if I could be of use."

"Would your mistress see Dr. Watson?"

"I take him. I no ask leave. She needs doctor."

"Then I'll come with you at once."

I followed the girl, who was quivering with strong emotion, up thestaircase and down an ancient corridor. At the end was an iron-clampedand massive door. It struck me as I looked at it that if Ferguson triedto force his way to his wife he would find it no easy matter. The girldrew a key from her pocket, and the heavy oaken planks creaked upontheir old hinges. I passed in and she swiftly followed, fastening thedoor behind her.

On the bed a woman was lying who was clearly in a high fever. She wasonly half conscious, but as I entered she raised a pair of frightenedbut beautiful eyes and glared at me in apprehension. Seeing a stranger,she appeared to be relieved and sank back with a sigh upon the pillow.I stepped up to her with a few reassuring words, and she lay stillwhile I took her pulse and temperature. Both were high, and yet myimpression was that the condition was rather that of mental and nervousexcitement than of any actual seizure.

"She lie like that one day, two day. I 'fraid she die," said the girl.

The woman turned her flushed and handsome face towards me.

"Where is my husband?"

"He is below and would wish to see you."

"I will not see him. I will not see him." Then she seemed to wander offinto delirium. "A fiend! A fiend! Oh, what shall I do with this devil?"

"Can I help you in any way?"

"No. No one can help. It is finished. All is destroyed. Do what I will,all is destroyed."

The woman must have some strange delusion. I could not see honest BobFerguson in the character of fiend or devil.

"Madame," I said, "your husband loves you dearly. He is deeply grievedat this happening."

Again she turned on me those glorious eyes.

"He loves me. Yes. But do I not love him? Do I not love him even tosacrifice myself rather than break his dear heart? That is how I lovehim. And yet he could think of me--he could speak of me so."

"He is full of grief, but he cannot understand."

"No, he cannot understand. But he should trust."

"Will you not see him?" I suggested.

"No, no, I cannot forget those terrible words nor the look upon hisface. I will not see him. Go now. You can do nothing for me. Tell himonly one thing. I want my child. I have a right to my child. That isthe only message I can send him." She turned her face to the wall andwould say no more.

I returned to the room downstairs, where Ferguson and Holmes still satby the fire. Ferguson listened moodily to my account of the interview.

"How can I send her the child?" he said. "How do I know what strangeimpulse might come upon her? How can I ever forget how she rose frombeside it with its blood upon her lips?" He shuddered at therecollection. "The child is safe with Mrs. Mason, and there he mustremain."

A smart maid, the only modern thing which we had seen in the house, hadbrought in some tea. As she was serving it the door opened and a youthentered the room. He was a remarkable lad, pale-faced and fair-haired,with excitable light blue eyes which blazed into a sudden flame ofemotion and joy as they rested upon his father. He rushed forward andthrew his arms round his neck with the abandon of a loving girl.

"Oh, daddy," he cried, "I did not know that you were due yet. I shouldhave been here to meet you. Oh, I am so glad to see you!"

Ferguson gently disengaged himself from the embrace with some littleshow of embarrassment.

"Dear old chap," said he, patting the flaxen head with a very tenderhand. "I came early because my friends, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson, havebeen persuaded to come down and spend an evening with us."

"Is that Mr. Holmes, the detective?"

"Yes."

The youth looked at us with a very penetrating and, as it seemed to me,unfriendly gaze.

"What about your other child, Mr. Ferguson?" asked Holmes. "Might wemake the acquaintance of the baby?"

"Ask Mrs. Mason to bring baby down," said Ferguson. The boy went offwith a curious, shambling gait which told my surgical eyes that he wassuffering from a weak spine. Presently he returned, and behind him camea tall, gaunt woman bearing in her arms a very beautiful child,dark-eyed, golden-haired, a wonderful mixture of the Saxon and theLatin. Ferguson was evidently devoted to it, for he took it into hisarms and fondled it most tenderly.

"Fancy anyone having the heart to hurt him," he muttered as he glanceddown at the small, angry red pucker upon the cherub throat.

It was at this moment that I chanced to glance at Holmes and saw a mostsingular intentness in his expression. His face was as set as if it hadbeen carved out of old ivory, and his eyes, which had glanced for amoment at father and child, were now fixed with eager curiosity uponsomething at the other side of the room. Following his gaze I couldonly guess that he was looking out through the window at themelancholy, dripping garden. It is true that a shutter had half closedoutside and obstructed the view, but none the less it was certainly atthe window that Holmes was fixing his concentrated attention. Then hesmiled, and his eyes came back to the baby. On its chubby neck therewas this small puckered mark. Without speaking, Holmes examined it withcare. Finally he shook one of the dimpled fists which waved in front ofhim.

"Good-bye, little man. You have made a strange start in life. Nurse, Ishould wish to have a word with you in private."

He took her aside and spoke earnestly for a few minutes. I only heardthe last words, which were: "Your anxiety will soon, I hope, be set atrest." The woman, who seemed to be a sour, silent kind of creature,withdrew with the child.

"What is Mrs. Mason like?" asked Holmes.

"Not very prepossessing externally, as you can see, but a heart ofgold, and devoted to the child."

"Do you like her, Jack?" Holmes turned suddenly upon the boy. Hisexpressive mobile face shadowed over, and he shook his head.

"Jacky has very strong likes and dislikes," said Ferguson, putting hisarm round the boy. "Luckily I am one of his likes."

The boy cooed and nestled his head upon his father's breast. Fergusongently disengaged him.

"Run away, little Jacky," said he, and he watched his son with lovingeyes until he disappeared. "Now, Mr. Holmes," he continued when the boywas gone, "I really feel that I have brought you on a fool's errand,for what can you possibly do save give me your sympathy? It must be anexceedingly delicate and complex affair from your point of view."

"It is certainly delicate," said my friend with an amused smile, "but Ihave not been struck up to now with its complexity. It has been a casefor intellectual deduction, but when this original intellectualdeduction is confirmed point by point by quite a number of independentincidents, then the subjective becomes objective and we can sayconfidently that we have reached our goal. I had, in fact, reached itbefore we left Baker Street, and the rest has merely been observationand confirmation."

Ferguson put his big hand to his furrowed forehead.

"For heaven's sake, Holmes," he said hoarsely; "if you can see thetruth in this matter, do not keep me in suspense. How do I stand? Whatshall I do? I care nothing as to how you have found your facts so longas you have really got them."

"Certainly I owe you an explanation, and you shall have it. But youwill permit me to handle the matter in my own way? Is the lady capableof seeing us, Watson?"

"She is ill, but she is quite rational."

"Very good. It is only in her presence that we can clear the matter up.Let us go up to her."

"She will not see me," cried Ferguson.

"Oh, yes, she will," said Holmes. He scribbled a few lines upon a sheetof paper. "You at least have the entree, Watson. Will you have thegoodness to give the lady this note?"

I ascended again and handed the note to Dolores, who cautiously openedthe door. A minute later I heard a cry from within, a cry in which joyand surprise seemed to be blended. Dolores looked out.

"She will see them. She will leesten," said she.

At my summons Ferguson and Holmes came up. As we entered the roomFerguson took a step or two towards his wife, who had raised herself inthe bed, but she held out her hand to repulse him. He sank into anarmchair, while Holmes seated himself beside him, after bowing to thelady, who looked at him with wide-eyed amazement.

"I think we can dispense with Dolores," said Holmes. "Oh, very well,madame, if you would rather she stayed I can see no objection. Now, Mr.Ferguson, I am a busy man with many calls, and my methods have to beshort and direct. The swiftest surgery is the least painful. Let mefirst say what will ease your mind. Your wife is a very good, a veryloving, and a very ill-used woman."

Ferguson sat up with a cry of joy.

"Prove that, Mr. Holmes, and I am your debtor forever."

"I will do so, but in doing so I must wound you deeply in anotherdirection."

"I care nothing so long as you clear my wife. Everything on earth isinsignificant compared to that."

"Let me tell you, then, the train of reasoning which passed through mymind in Baker Street. The idea of a vampire was to me absurd. Suchthings do not happen in criminal practice in England. And yet yourobservation was precise. You had seen the lady rise from beside thechild's cot with the blood upon her lips."

"I did."

"Did it not occur to you that a bleeding wound may be sucked for someother purpose than to draw the blood from it? Was there not a queen inEnglish history who sucked such a wound to draw poison from it?"

"Poison!"

"A South American household. My instinct felt the presence of thoseweapons upon the wall before my eyes ever saw them. It might have beenother poison, but that was what occurred to me. When I saw that littleempty quiver beside the small birdbow, it was just what I expected tosee. If the child were pricked with one of those arrows dipped incurare or some other devilish drug, it would mean death if the venomwere not sucked out.

"And the dog! If one were to use such a poison, would one not try itfirst in order to see that it had not lost its power? I did not foreseethe dog, but at least I understand him and he fitted into myreconstruction.

"Now do you understand? Your wife feared such an attack. She saw itmade and saved the child's life, and yet she shrank from telling youall the truth, for she knew how you loved the boy and feared lest itbreak your heart."

"Jacky!"

"I watched him as you fondled the child just now. His face was clearlyreflected in the glass of the window where the shutter formed abackground. I saw such jealousy, such cruel hatred, as I have seldomseen in a human face."

"My Jacky!"

"You have to face it, Mr. Ferguson. It is the more painful because itis a distorted love, a maniacal exaggerated love for you, and possiblyfor his dead mother, which has prompted his action. His very soul isconsumed with hatred for this splendid child, whose health and beautyare a contrast to his own weakness."

"Good God! It is incredible!"

"Have I spoken the truth, madame?"

The lady was sobbing, with her face buried in the pillows. Now sheturned to her husband.

"How could I tell you, Bob? I felt the blow it would be to you. It wasbetter that I should wait and that it should come from some other lipsthan mine. When this gentleman, who seems to have powers of magic,wrote that he knew all, I was glad."

"I think a year at sea would be my prescription for Master Jacky," saidHolmes, rising from his chair. "Only one thing is still clouded,madame. We can quite understand your attacks upon Master Jacky. Thereis a limit to a mother's patience. But how did you dare to leave thechild these last two days?"

"I had told Mrs. Mason. She knew."

"Exactly. So I imagined."

Ferguson was standing by the bed, choking, his hands outstretched andquivering.

"This, I fancy, is the time for our exit, Watson," said Holmes in awhisper. "If you will take one elbow of the too faithful Dolores, Iwill take the other. There, now," he added as he closed the door behindhim, "I think we may leave them to settle the rest among themselves."

I have only one further note of this case. It is the letter whichHolmes wrote in final answer to that with which the narrative begins.It ran thus:

BAKER STREET,Nov. 21st.Re Vampires

SIR:

Referring to your letter of the 19th, I beg to state that I have lookedinto the inquiry of your client, Mr. Robert Ferguson, of Ferguson andMuirhead, tea brokers, of Mincing Lane, and that the matter has beenbrought to a satisfactory conclusion. With thanks for your recommendation,

I am, sir,

Faithfully yours,

SHERLOCK HOLMES.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE THREE GARRIDEBS

It may have been a comedy, or it may have been a tragedy. It cost oneman his reason, it cost me a blood-letting, and it cost yet another manthe penalties of the law. Yet there was certainly an element of comedy.Well, you shall judge for yourselves.

I remember the date very well, for it was in the same month that Holmesrefused a knighthood for services which may perhaps some day bedescribed. I only refer to the matter in passing, for in my position ofpartner and confidant I am obliged to be particularly careful to avoidany indiscretion. I repeat, however, that this enables me to fix thedate, which was the latter end of June, 1902, shortly after theconclusion of the South African War. Holmes had spent several days inbed, as was his habit from time to time, but he emerged that morningwith a long foolscap document in his hand and a twinkle of amusement inhis austere gray eyes.

"There is a chance for you to make some money. friend Watson," said he."Have you ever heard the name of Garrideb?"

I admitted that I had not.

"Well, if you can lay your hand upon a Garrideb, there's money in it."

"Why?"

"Ah, that's a long story--rather a whimsical one, too. I don't thinkin all our explorations of human complexities we have ever come uponanything more singular. The fellow will be here presently forcross-examination, so I won't open the matter up till he comes. But,meanwhile, that's the name we want."

The telephone directory lay on the table beside me, and I turned overthe pages in a rather hopeless quest. But to my amazement there wasthis strange name in its due place. I gave a cry of triumph.

"Here you are, Holmes! Here it is!"

Holmes took the book from my hand.

"'Garrideb, N.,'" he read, "'136 Little Ryder Street, W.' Sorry todisappoint you, my dear Watson, but this is the man himself. That isthe address upon his letter. We want another to match him."

Mrs. Hudson had come in with a card upon a tray. I took it up andglanced at it.

"Why, here it is!" I cried in amazement. "This is a different initial.John Garrideb, Counsellor at Law, Moorville, Kansas, U.S.A."

Holmes smiled as he looked at the card. "I am afraid you must make yetanother effort, Watson," said he. "This gentleman is also in the plotalready, though I certainly did not expect to see him this morning.However, he is in a position to tell us a good deal which I want toknow."

A moment later he was in the room. Mr. John Garrideb, Counsellor atLaw, was a short, powerful man with the round, fresh, clean-shaven facecharacteristic of so many American men of affairs. The general effectwas chubby and rather childlike, so that one received the impression ofquite a young man with a broad set smile upon his face. His eyes,however, were arresting. Seldom in any human head have I seen a pairwhich bespoke a more intense inward life, so bright were they, soalert, so responsive to every change of thought. His accent wasAmerican, but was not accompanied by any eccentricity of speech.

"Mr. Holmes?" he asked, glancing from one to the other. "Ah, yes! Yourpictures are not unlike you, sir, if I may say so. I believe you havehad a letter from my namesake, Mr. Nathan Garrideb, have you not?"

"Pray sit down," said Sherlock Holmes. "We shall, I fancy, have a gooddeal to discuss." He took up his sheets of foolscap. "You are, ofcourse, the Mr. John Garrideb mentioned in this document. But surelyyou have been in England some time?"

Mr. Garrideb forced a laugh. "I've read of your tricks, Mr. Holmes, butI never thought I would be the subject of them. Where do you readthat?"

"The shoulder cut of your coat, the toes of your boots--could anyonedoubt it?"

"Well, well, I had no idea I was so obvious a Britisher. But businessbrought me over here some time ago, and so, as you say, my outfit isnearly all London. However, I guess your time is of value, and we didnot meet to talk about the cut of my socks. What about getting down tothat paper you hold in your hand?"

Holmes had in some way ruffled our visitor, whose chubby face hadassumed a far less amiable expression.

"Patience! Patience, Mr. Garrideb!" said my friend in a soothing voice."Dr. Watson would tell you that these little digressions of minesometimes prove in the end to have some bearing on the matter. But whydid Mr. Nathan Garrideb not come with you?"

"Why did he ever drag you into it at all?" asked our visitor with asudden outflame of anger. "What in thunder had you to do with it? Herewas a bit of professional business between two gentlemen, and one ofthem must needs call in a detective! I saw him this morning, and hetold me this fool-trick he had played me, and that's why I am here. ButI feel bad about it, all the same."

"There was no reflection upon you, Mr. Garrideb. It was simply zealupon his part to gain your end--an end which is, I understand,equally vital for both of you. He knew that I had means of gettinginformation, and, therefore, it was very natural that he should applyto me."

Our visitor's angry face gradually cleared.

"Well, that puts it different," said he. "When I went to see him thismorning and he told me he had sent to a detective, I just asked foryour address and came right away. I don't want police butting into aprivate matter. But if you are content just to help us find the man,there can be no harm in that."

"Well, that is just how it stands," said Holmes. "And now, sir, sinceyou are here, we had best have a clear account from your own lips. Myfriend here knows nothing of the details."

Mr. Garrideb surveyed me with not too friendly a gaze.

"Need he know?" he asked.

"We usually work together."

"Well, there's no reason it should be kept a secret. I'll give you thefacts as short as I can make them. If you came from Kansas I would notneed to explain to you who Alexander Hamilton Garrideb was. He made hismoney in real estate, and afterwards in the wheat pit at Chicago, buthe spent it in buying up as much land as would make one of yourcounties, lying along the Arkansas River, west of Fort Dodge. It'sgrazing-land and lumber-land and arable-land and mineralized-land, andjust every sort of land that brings dollars to the man that owns it.

"He had no kith nor kin--or, if he had, I never heard of it. But hetook a kind of pride in the queerness of his name. That was whatbrought us together. I was in the law at Topeka, and one day I had avisit from the old man, and he was tickled to death to meet another manwith his own name. It was his pet fad, and he was dead set to find outif there were any more Garridebs in the world. 'Find me another!' saidhe. I told him I was a busy man and could not spend my life hikinground the world in search of Garridebs. 'None the less,' said he, 'thatis just what you will do if things pan out as I planned them.' Ithought he was joking, but there was a powerful lot of meaning in thewords, as I was soon to discover.

"For he died within a year of saying them, and he left a will behindhim. It was the queerest will that has ever been filed in the State ofKansas. His property was divided into three parts and I was to have oneon condition that I found two Garridebs who would share the remainder.It's five million dollars for each if it is a cent, but we can't lay afinger on it until we all three stand in a row.

"It was so big a chance that I just let my legal practice slide and Iset forth looking for Garridebs. There is not one in the United States.I went through it, sir, with a fine-toothed comb and never a Garridebcould I catch. Then I tried the old country. Sure enough there was thename in the London telephone directory. I went after him two days agoand explained the whole matter to him. But he is a lone man, likemyself, with some women relations, but no men. It says three adult menin the will. So you see we still have a vacancy, and if you can help tofill it we will be very ready to pay your charges."

"Well, Watson," said Holmes with a smile, "l said it was ratherwhimsical, did I not? I should have thought, sir, that your obvious waywas to advertise in the agony columns of the papers."

"I have done that, Mr. Holmes. No replies."

"Dear me! Well, it is certainly a most curious little problem. I maytake a glance at it in my leisure. By the way, it is curious that youshould have come from Topeka. I used to have a correspondent--he isdead now--old Dr. Lysander Starr, who was mayor in 1890."

"Good old Dr. Starr!" said our visitor. "His name is still honoured.Well, Mr. Holmes, I suppose all we can do is to report to you and letyou know how we progress. I reckon you will hear within a day or two."With this assurance our American bowed and departed.

Holmes had lit his pipe, and he sat for some time with a curious smileupon his face.

"Well?" I asked at last.

"I am wondering, Watson--just wondering!"

"At what?"

Holmes took his pipe from his lips.

"I was wondering, Watson, what on earth could be the object of this manin telling us such a rigmarole of lies. I nearly asked him so--forthere are times when a brutal frontal attack is the best policy--butI judged it better to let him think he had fooled us. Here is a manwith an English coat frayed at the elbow and trousers bagged at theknee with a year's wear, and yet by this document and by his ownaccount he is a provincial American lately landed in London. There havebeen no advertisements in the agony columns. You know that I missnothing there. They are my favourite covert for putting up a bird, andI would never have overlooked such a cock pheasant as that. I neverknew a Dr. Lysander Starr, of Topeka. Touch him where you would he wasfalse. I think the fellow is really an American, but he has worn hisaccent smooth with years of London. What is his game, then, and whatmotive lies behind this preposterous search for Garridebs? It's worthour attention, for, granting that the man is a rascal, he is certainlya complex and ingenious one. We must now find out if our othercorrespondent is a fraud also. Just ring him up, Watson."

I did so, and heard a thin, quavering voice at the other end of theline.

"Yes, yes, I am Mr. Nathan Garrideb. Is Mr. Holmes there? I should verymuch like to have a word with Mr. Holmes."

My friend took the instrument and I heard the usual syncopateddialogue.

"Yes, he has been here. I understand that you don't know him.... Howlong? ... Only two days! ... Yes, yes, of course, it is a mostcaptivating prospect. Will you be at home this evening? I suppose yournamesake will not be there? . . . Very good, we will come then, for Iwould rather have a chat without him.... Dr. Watson will come withme.... I understand from your note that you did not go out often....Well, we shall be round about six. You need not mention it to theAmerican lawyer.... Very good. Good-bye!"

It was twilight of a lovely spring evening, and even Little RyderStreet, one of the smaller offshoots from the Edgware Road, within astone-cast of old Tyburn Tree of evil memory, looked golden andwonderful in the slanting rays of the setting sun. The particular houseto which we were directed was a large, old-fashioned, Early Georgianedifice, with a flat brick face broken only by two deep bay windows onthe ground floor. It was on this ground floor that our client lived,and, indeed, the low windows proved to be the front of the huge room inwhich he spent his waking hours. Holmes pointed as we passed to thesmall brass plate which bore the curious name.

"Up some years, Watson," he remarked, indicating its discolouredsurface. "It's his real name, anyhow, and that is something to note."

The house had a common stair, and there were a number of names paintedin the hall, some indicating offices and some private chambers. It wasnot a collection of residential flats, but rather the abode of Bohemianbachelors. Our client opened the door for us himself and apologized bysaying that the woman in charge left at four o'clock. Mr. NathanGarrideb proved to be a very tall, loosejointed, round-backed person,gaunt and bald, some sixty-odd years of age. He had a cadaverous face,with the dull dead skin of a man to whom exercise was unknown. Largeround spectacles and a small projecting goat's beard combined with hisstooping attitude to give him an expression of peering curiosity. Thegeneral effect, however, was amiable, though eccentric.

The room was as curious as its occupant. It looked like a small museum.It was both broad and deep, with cupboards and cabinets all round,crowded with specimens, geological and anatomical. Cases of butterfliesand moths flanked each side of the entrance. A large table in thecentre was littered with all sorts of debris, while the tall brass tubeof a powerful microscope bristled up among them. As I glanced round Iwas surprised at the universality of the man's interests. Here was acase of ancient coins. There was a cabinet of flint instruments. Behindhis central table was a large cupboard of fossil bones. Above was aline of plaster skulls with such names as "Neanderthal," "Heidelberg,""Cro-Magnon" printed beneath them. It was clear that he was a studentof many subjects. As he stood in front of us now, he held a piece ofchamois leather in his right hand with which he was polishing a coin.

"Syracusan--of the best period," he explained, holding it up. "Theydegenerated greatly towards the end. At their best I hold them supreme,though some prefer the Alexandrian school. You will find a chair here,Mr. Holmes. Pray allow me to clear these bones. And you, sir--ah,yes, Dr. Watson--if you would have the goodness to put the Japanesevase to one side. You see round me my little interests in life. Mydoctor lectures me about never going out, but why should I go out whenI have so much to hold me here? I can assure you that the adequatecataloguing of one of those cabinets would take me three good months."

Holmes looked round him with curiosity.

"But do you tell me that you never go out?" he said.

"Now and again I drive down to Sotheby's or Christie's. Otherwise Ivery seldom leave my room. I am not too strong, and my researches arevery absorbing. But you can imagine, Mr. Holmes, what a terrific shock--pleasant but terrific--it was for me when I heard of thisunparalleled good fortune. It only needs one more Garrideb to completethe matter, and surely we can find one. I had a brother, but he isdead, and female relatives are disqualified. But there must surely beothers in the world. I had heard that you handled strange cases, andthat was why I sent to you. Of course, this American gentleman is quiteright, and I should have taken his advice first, but I acted for thebest."

"I think you acted very wisely indeed," said Holmes. "But are youreally anxious to acquire an estate in America?"

"Certainly not, sir. Nothing would induce me to leave my collection.But this gentleman has assured me that he will buy me out as soon as wehave established our claim. Five million dollars was the sum named.There are a dozen specimens in the market at the present moment whichfill gaps in my collection, and which I am unable to purchase for wantof a few hundred pounds. Just think what I could do with five milliondollars. Why, I have the nucleus of a national collection. I shall bethe Hans Sloane of my age."

His eyes gleamed behind his great spectacles. It was very clear that nopains would be spared by Mr. Nathan Garrideb in finding a namesake.

"I merely called to make your acquaintance, and there is no reason whyI should interrupt your studies," said Holmes. "I prefer to establishpersonal touch with those with whom I do business. There are fewquestions I need ask, for I have your very clear narrative in mypocket, and I filled up the blanks when this American gentleman called.I understand that up to this week you were unaware of his existence."

"That is so. He called last Tuesday."

"Did he tell you of our interview to-day?"

"Yes, he came straight back to me. He had been very angry."

"Why should he be angry?"

"He seemed to think it was some reflection on his honour. But he wasquite cheerful again when he returned."

"Did he suggest any course of action?"

"No, sir, he did not."

"Has he had, or asked for, any money from you?"

"No, sir, never!"

"You see no possible object he has in view?"

"None, except what he states."

"Did you tell him of our telephone appointment?"

"Yes, sir, I did."

Holmes was lost in thought. I could see that he was puzzled.

"Have you any articles of great value in your collection?"

"No, sir. I am not a rich man. It is a good collection, but not a veryvaluable one."

"You have no fear of burglars?"

"Not the least."

"How long have you been in these rooms?"

"Nearly five years."

Holmes's cross-examination was interrupted by an imperative knocking atthe door. No sooner had our client unlatched it than the Americanlawyer burst excitedly into the room.

"Here you are!" he cried, waving a paper over his head. "I thought Ishould be in time to get you. Mr. Nathan Garrideb, my congratulations!You are a rich man, sir. Our business is happily finished and all iswell. As to you, Mr. Holmes, we can only say we are sorry if we havegiven you any useless trouble."

He handed over the paper to our client, who stood staring at a markedadvertisement. Holmes and I leaned forward and read it over hisshoulder. This is how it ran:

"I had opened up inquiries in Birmingham," said the Americn, "and myagent there has sent me this advertisement from a local paper. We musthustle and put the thing through. I have written to this man and toldhim that you will see him in his office to-morrow afternoon at fouro'clock."

"You want me to see him?"

"What do you say, Mr. Holmes? Don't you think it would be wiser? Heream I, a wandering American with a wonderful tale. Why should he believewhat I tell him? But you are a Britisher with solid references, and heis bound to take notice of what you say. I would go with you if youwished, but I have a very busy day to-morrow, and I could always followyou if you are in any trouble."

"Well, I have not made such a journey for years."

"It is nothing, Mr. Garrideb. I have figured out our connections. Youleave at twelve and should be there soon after two. Then you can beback the same night. All you have to do is to see this man, explain thematter, and get an affidavit of his existence. By the Lord!" he addedhotly, "considering I've come all the way from the centre of America,it is surely little enough if you go a hundred miles in order to putthis matter through."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "I think what this gentleman says is verytrue."

Mr. Nathan Garrideb shrugged his shoulders with a disconsolate air."Well, if you insist I shall go," said he. "It is certainly hard for meto refuse you anything, considering the glory of hope that you havebrought into my life."

"Then that is agreed," said Holmes, "and no doubt you will let me havea report as soon as you can."

"I'll see to that," said the American. "Well," he added looking at hiswatch, "I'll have to get on. I'll call to-morrow, Mr. Nathan, and seeyou off to Birmingham. Coming my way, Mr. Holmes? Well, then, good-bye,and we may have good news for you to-morrow night."

I noticed that my friend's face cleared when the American left theroom, and the look of thoughtful perplexity had vanished.

"I wish I could look over your collection, Mr. Garrideb," said he. "Inmy profession all sorts of odd knowledge comes useful, and this room ofyours is a storehouse of it."

Our client shone with pleasure and his eyes gleamed from behind his bigglasses.

"I had always heard, sir, that you were a very intelligent man," saidhe. "I could take you round now if you have the time."

"Unfortunately, I have not. But these specimens are so well labelledand classified that they hardly need your personal explanation. If Ishould be able to look in to-morrow, I presume that there would be noobjection to my glancing over them?"

"None at all. You are most welcome. The place will, of course, be shutup, but Mrs. Saunders is in the basement up to four o'clock and wouldlet you in with her key."

"Well, I happen to be clear to-morrow afternoon. If you would say aword to Mrs. Saunders it would be quite in order. By the way, who isyour house-agent?"

Our client was amazed at the sudden question.

"Holloway and Steele, in the Edgware Road. But why?"

"I am a bit of an archaeologist myself when it comes to houses," saidHolmes, laughing. "I was wondering if this was Queen Anne or Georgian."

"Georgian, beyond doubt."

"Really. I should have thought a little earlier. However, it is easilyascertained. Well, good-bye, Mr. Garrideb, and may you have everysuccess in your Birmingham journey."

The house-agent's was close by, but we found that it was closed for theday, so we made our way back to Baker Street. It was not till afterdinner that Holmes reverted to the subject.

"Our little problem draws to a close," said he. "No doubt you haveoutlined the solution in your own mind."

"I can make neither head nor tail of it."

"The head is surely clear enough and the tail we should see to-morrow.Did you notice nothing curious about that advertisement?"

"I saw that the word 'plough' was misspelt."

"Oh, you did notice that, did you? Come, Watson, you improve all thetime. Yes, it was bad English but good American. The printer had set itup as received. Then the buckboards. That is American also. Andartesian wells are commoner with them than with us. It was a typicalAmerican advertisement, but purporting to be from an English firm. Whatdo you make of that?"

"I can only suppose that this American lawyer put it in himself. Whathis object was I fail to understand."

"Well, there are alternative explanations. Anyhow, he wanted to getthis good old fossil up to Birmingham. That is very clear. I might havetold him that he was clearly going on a wild-goose chase, but, onsecond thoughts, it seemed better to clear the stage by letting him go.To-morrow, Watson--well, to-morrow will speak for itself."

Holmes was up and out early. When he returned at lunchtime I noticedthat his face was very grave.

"This is a more serious matter than I had expected, Watson," said he."It is fair to tell you so, though I know it will only be an additionalreason to you for running your head into danger. I should know myWatson by now. But there is danger, and you should know it."

"Well, it is not the first we have shared, Holmes. I hope it may not bethe last. What is the particular danger this time?"

"We are up against a very hard case. I have identified Mr. JohnGarrideb, Counsellor at Law. He is none other than 'Killer' Evans, ofsinister and murderous reputation."

"I fear I am none the wiser."

"Ah, it is not part of your profession to carry about a portableNewgate Calendar in your memory. I have been down to see friendLestrade at the Yard. There may be an occasional want of imaginativeintuition down there, but they lead the world for thoroughness andmethod. I had an idea that we might get on the track of our Americanfriend in their records. Sure enough, I found his chubby face smilingup at me from the rogues' portrait gallery. 'James Winter, aliasMorecroft, alias Killer Evans,' was the inscription below." Holmes drewan envelope from his pocket. "I scribbled down a few points from hisdossier: Aged forty-four. Native of Chicago. Known to have shot threemen in the States. Escaped from penitentiary through politicalinfluence. Came to London in 1893. Shot a man over cards in anight-club in the Waterloo Road in January, 1895. Man died, but he wasshown to have been the aggressor in the row. Dead man was identified asRodger Prescott, famous as forger and coiner in Chicago. Killer Evansreleased in 1901. Has been under police supervision since, but so faras known has led an honest life. Very dangerous man, usually carriesarms and is prepared to use them. That is our bird, Watson--asporting bird, as you must admit."

"But what is his game?"

"Well, it begins to define itself. I have been to the houseagent's. Ourclient, as he told us, has been there five years. It was unlet for ayear before then. The previous tenant was a gentleman at large namedWaldron. Waldron's appearance was well remembered at the office. He hadsuddenly vanished and nothing more been heard of him. He was a tall,bearded man with very dark features. Now, Prescott, the man whom KillerEvans had shot, was, according to Scotland Yard, a tall, dark man witha beard. As a working hypothesis, I think we may take it that Prescott,the American criminal, used to live in the very room which our innocentfriend now devotes to his museum. So at last we get a link, you see."

"And the next link?"

"Well, we must go now and look for that."

He took a revolver from the drawer and handed it to me.

"I have my old favourite with me. If our Wild West friend tries to liveup to his nickname, we must be ready for him. I'll give you an hour fora siesta, Watson, and then I think it will be time for our Ryder Streetadventure."

It was just four o'clock when we reached the curious apartment ofNathan Garrideb. Mrs. Saunders, the caretaker, was about to leave, butshe had no hesitation in admitting us, for the door shut with a springlock, and Holmes promised to see that all was safe before we left.Shortly afterwards the outer door closed, her bonnet passed the bowwindow, and we knew that we were alone in the lower floor of the house.Holmes made a rapid examination of the premises. There was one cupboardin a dark corner which stood out a little from the wall. It was behindthis that we eventually crouched while Holmes in a whisper outlined hisintentions.

"He wanted to get our amiable friend out of his room--that is veryclear, and, as the collector never went out, it took some planning todo it. The whole of this Garrideb invention was apparently for no otherend. I must say, Watson, that there is a certain devilish ingenuityabout it, even if the queer name of the tenant did give him an openingwhich he could hardly have expected. He wove his plot with remarkablecunning.''

"But what did he want?"

"Well, that is what we are here to find out. It has nothing whatever todo with our client, so far as I can read the situation. It is somethingconnected with the man he murdered--the man who may have been hisconfederate in crime. There is some guilty secret in the room. That ishow I read it. At first I thought our friend might have something inhis collection more valuable than he knew--something worth theattention of a big criminal. But the fact that Rodger Prescott of evilmemory inhabited these rooms points to some deeper reason. Well,Watson, we can but possess our souls in patience and see what the hourmay bring."

That hour was not long in striking. We crouched closer in the shadow aswe heard the outer door open and shut. Then came the sharp, metallicsnap of a key, and the American was in the room. He closed the doorsoftly behind him, took a sharp glance around him to see that all wassafe, threw off his overcoat, and walked up to the central table withthe brisk manner of one who knows exactly what he has to do and how todo it. He pushed the table to one side, tore up the square of carpet onwhich it rested, rolled it completely back, and then, drawing a jemmyfrom his inside pocket, he knelt down and worked vigorously upon thefloor. Presently we heard the sound of sliding boards, and an instantlater a square had opened in the planks. Killer Evans struck a match,lit a stump of candle, and vanished from our view.

Clearly our moment had come. Holmes touched my wrist as a signal, andtogether we stole across to the open trap-door. Gently as we moved,however, the old floor must have creaked under our feet, for the headof our American, peering anxiously round, emerged suddenly from theopen space. His face turned upon us with a glare of baffled rage, whichgradually softened into a rather shamefaced grin as he realized thattwo pistols were pointed at his head.

"Well, well!" said he coolly as he scrambled to the surface. "I guessyou have been one too many for me, Mr. Holmes. Saw through my game, Isuppose, and played me for a sucker from the first. Well, sir, I handit to you; you have me beat and--"

In an instant he had whisked out a revolver from his breast and hadfired two shots. I felt a sudden hot sear as if a red-hot iron had beenpressed to my thigh. There was a crash as Holmes's pistol came down onthe man's head. I had a vision of him sprawling upon the floor withblood running down his face while Holmes rummaged him for weapons. Thenmy friend's wiry arms were round me, and he was leading me to a chair.

"You're not hurt, Watson? For God's sake, say that you are not hurt!"

It was worth a wound--it was worth many wounds--to know the depthof loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask. The clear, hardeyes were dimmed for a moment, and the firm lips were shaking. For theone and only time I caught a glimpse of a great heart as well as of agreat brain. All my years of humble but single-minded serviceculminated in that moment of revelation.

"It's nothing, Holmes. It's a mere scratch."

He had ripped up my trousers with his pocket-knife.

"You are right," he cried with an immense sigh of relief. "It is quitesuperficial." His face set like flint as he glared at our prisoner, whowas sitting up with a dazed face. "By the Lord, it is as well for you.If you had killed Watson, you would not have got out of this roomalive. Now, sir, what have you to say for yourself?"

He had nothing to say for himself. He only sat and scowled. I leaned onHolmes's arm, and together we looked down into the small cellar whichhad been disclosed by the secret flap. It was still illuminated by thecandle which Evans had taken down with him. Our eyes fell upon a massof rusted machinery, great rolls of paper, a litter of bottles, and,neatly arranged upon a small table, a number of neat little bundles.

"A printing press--a counterfeiter's outfit," said Holmes.

"Yes, sir," said our prisoner, staggering slowly to his feet and thensinking into the chair. "The greatest counterfeiter London ever saw.That's Prescott's machine, and those bundles on the table are twothousand of Prescott's notes worth a hundred each and fit to passanywhere. Help yourselves, gentlemen. Call it a deal and let me beatit."

Holmes laughed.

"We don't do things like that, Mr. Evans. There is no bolthole for youin this country. You shot this man Prescott, did you not?"

"Yes, sir, and got five years for it, though it was he who pulled onme. Five years--when I should have had a medal the size of a soupplate. No living man could tell a Prescott from a Bank of England, andif I hadn't put him out he would have flooded London with them. I wasthe only one in the world who knew where he made them. Can you wonderthat I wanted to get to the place? And can you wonder that when I foundthis crazy boob of a bug-hunter with the queer name squatting right onthe top of it, and never quitting his room, I had to do the best Icould to shift him? Maybe I would have been wiser if I had put himaway. It would have been easy enough, but I'm a soft-hearted guy thatcan't begin shooting unless the other man has a gun also. But say, Mr.Holmes, what have I done wrong, anyhow? I've not used this plant. I'venot hurt this old stiff. Where do you get me?"

"Only attempted murder, so far as I can see," said Holmes. "But that'snot our job. They take that at the next stage. What we wanted atpresent was just your sweet self. Please give the Yard a call, Watson.It won't be entirely unexpected."

So those were the facts about Killer Evans and his remarkable inventionof the three Garridebs. We heard later that our poor old friend nevergot over the shock of his dissipated dreams. When his castle in the airfell down, it buried him beneath the ruins. He was last heard of at anursing-home in Brixton. It was a glad day at the Yard when thePrescott outfit was discovered, for, though they knew that it existed,they had never been able, after the death of the man, to find out whereit was. Evans had indeed done great service and caused several worthyC. I. D. men to sleep the sounder, for the counterfeiter stands in aclass by himself as a public danger. They would willingly havesubscribed to that soup-plate medal of which the criminal had spoken,but an unappreciative bench took a less favourable view, and the Killerreturned to those shades from which he had just emerged.

THE PROBLEM OF THOR BRIDGE

Somewhere in the vaults of the bank of Cox and Co., at Charing Cross,there is a travel-worn and battered tin dispatchbox with my name, JohnH. Watson, M. D., Late Indian Army, painted upon the lid. It is crammedwith papers, nearly all of which are records of cases to illustrate thecurious problems which Mr. Sherlock Holmes had at various times toexamine. Some, and not the least interesting, were complete failures,and as such will hardly bear narrating, since no final explanation isforthcoming. A problem without a solution may interest the student, butcan hardly fail to annoy the casual reader. Among these unfinishedtales is that of Mr. James Phillimore, who, stepping back into his ownhouse to get his umbrella, was never more seen in this world. No lessremarkable is that of the cutter Alicia, which sailed one springmorning into a small patch of mist from where she never again emerged,nor was anything further ever heard of herself and her crew. A thirdcase worthy of note is that of Isadora Persano, the well-knownjournalist and duellist, who was found stark staring mad with a matchbox in front of him which contained a remarkable worm said to beunknown to science. Apart from these unfathomed cases, there are somewhich involve the secrets of private families to an extent which wouldmean consternation in many exalted quarters if it were thought possiblethat they might find their way into print. I need not say that such abreach of confidence is unthinkable, and that these records will beseparated and destroyed now that my friend has time to turn hisenergies to the matter. There remain a considerable residue of cases ofgreater or less interest which I might have edited before had I notfeared to give the public a surfeit which might react upon thereputation of the man whom above all others I revere. In some I wasmyself concerned and can speak as an eye-witness, while in others I waseither not present or played so small a part that they could only betold as by a third person. The following narrative is drawn from my ownexperience.

It was a wild morning in October, and I observed as I was dressing howthe last remaining leaves were being whirled from the solitary planetree which graces the yard behind our house. I descended to breakfastprepared to find my companion in depressed spirits, for, like all greatartists, he was easily impressed by his surroundings. On the contrary,I found that he had nearly finished his meal, and that his mood wasparticularly bright and joyous, with that somewhat sinistercheerfulness which was characteristic of his lighter moments.

"You have a case, Holmes?" I remarked.

"The faculty of deduction is certainly contagious, Watson," heanswered. "It has enabled you to probe my secret. Yes, I have a case.After a month of trivialities and stagnation the wheels move oncemore."

"Might I share it?"

"There is little to share, but we may discuss it when you have consumedthe two hard-boiled eggs with which our new cook has favoured us. Theircondition may not be unconnected with the copy of the Family Heraldwhich I observed yesterday upon the hall-table. Even so trivial amatter as cooking an egg demands an attention which is conscious of thepassage of time and incompatible with the love romance in thatexcellent periodical."

A quarter of an hour later the table had been cleared and we were faceto face. He had drawn a letter from his pocket.

"You have heard of Neil Gibson, the Gold King?" he said.

"You mean the American Senator?"

"Well, he was once Senator for some Western state, but is better knownas the greatest gold-mining magnate in the world."

"Yes, I know of him. He has surely lived in England for some time. Hisname is very familiar."

"Yes, he bought a considerable estate in Hampshire some five years ago.Possibly you have already heard of the tragic end of his wife?"

"Of course. I remember it now. That is why the name is familiar. But Ireally know nothing of the details."

Holmes waved his hand towards some papers on a chair. "I had no ideathat the case was coming my way or I should have had my extractsready," said he. "The fact is that the problem, though exceedinglysensational, appeared to present no difficulty. The interestingpersonality of the accused does not obscure the clearness of theevidence. That was the view taken by the coroner's jury and also in thepolice-court proceedings. It is now referred to the Assizes atWinchester. I fear it is a thankless business. I can discover facts,Watson, but I cannot change them. Unless some entirely new andunexpected ones come to light I do not see what my client can hopefor."

"Your client?"

"Ah, I forgot I had not told you. I am getting into your involvedhabit, Watson, of telling a story backward. You had best read thisfirst."

The letter which he handed to me, written in a bold, masterful hand,ran as follows:

CLARIDGE'S HOTEL,October 3rd.

DEAR MR. SHERLOCK HOLMES:

I can't see the best woman God ever made go to her death without doing allthat is possible to save her. I can't explain things--I can't even try toexplain them, but I know beyond all doubt that Miss Dunbar is innocent.You know the facts--who doesn't? It has been the gossip of the country.And never a voice raised for her! It's the damned injustice of it allthat makes me crazy. That woman has a heart that wouldn't let her kill afly. Well, I'll come at eleven to-morrow and see if you can get some rayof light in the dark. Maybe I have a clue and don't know it. Anyhow,all I know and all I have and all I am are for your use if only you cansave her. If ever in your life you showed your powers, put them now intothis case.

Yours faithfully,

J. NEIL GIBSON.

"There you have it," said Sherlock Holmes, knocking out the ashes ofhis after-breakfast pipe and slowly refilling it. "That is thegentleman I await. As to the story, you have hardly time to master allthese papers, so I must give it to you in a nutshell if you are to takean intelligent interest in the proceedings. This man is the greatestfinancial power in the world, and a man, as I understand, of mostviolent and formidable character. He married a wife, the victim of thistragedy, of whom I know nothing save that she was past her prime, whichwas the more unfortunate as a very attractive governess superintendedthe education of two young children. These are the three peopleconcerned, and the scene is a grand old manor house, the centre of ahistorical English state. Then as to the tragedy. The wife was found inthe grounds nearly half a mile from the house, late at night, clad inher dinner dress, with a shawl over her shoulders and a revolver bulletthrough her brain. No weapon was found near her and there was no localclue as to the murder. No weapon near her, Watson--mark that! Thecrime seems to have been committed late in the evening, and the bodywas found by a gamekeeper about eleven o'clock, when it was examined bythe police and by a doctor before being carried up to the house. Isthis too condensed, or can you follow it clearly?"

"It is all very clear. But why suspect the governess?"

"Well, in the first place there is some very direct evidence. Arevolver with one discharged chamber and a calibre which correspondedwith the bullet was found on the floor of her wardrobe." His eyes fixedand he repeated in broken words, "On--the--floor--of--her--wardrobe." Then he sank into silence, and I saw that some train ofthought had been set moving which I should be foolish to interrupt.Suddenly with a start he emerged into brisk life once more. "Yes,Watson, it was found. Pretty damning, eh? So the two juries thought.Then the dead woman had a note upon her making an appointment at thatvery place and signed by the governess. How's that? Finally there isthe motive. Senator Gibson is an attractive person. If his wife dies,who more likely to succeed her than the young lady who had already byall accounts received pressing attentions from her employer? Love,fortune, power, all depending upon one middleaged life. Ugly, Watson--very ugly!"

"Yes, indeed, Holmes."

"Nor could she prove an alibi. On the contrary, she had to admit thatshe was down near Thor Bridge--that was the scene of the tragedy--about that hour. She couldn't deny it, for some passing villager hadseen her there."

"That really seems final."

"And yet, Watson--and yet! This bridge--a single broad span ofstone with balustraded sides--carries the drive over the narrowestpart of a long, deep, reed-girt sheet of water. Thor Mere it is called.In the mouth of the bridge lay the dead woman. Such are the main facts.But here, if I mistake not, is our client, considerably before histime."

Billy had opened the door, but the name which he announced was anunexpected one. Mr. Marlow Bates was a stranger to both of us. He was athin, nervous wisp of a man with frightened eyes and a twitching,hesitating manner--a man whom my own professional eye would judge tobe on the brink of an absolute nervous breakdown.

"You seem agitated, Mr. Bates," said Holmes. "Pray sit down. I fear Ican only give you a short time, for I have an appointment at eleven."

"I know you have," our visitor gasped, shooting out short sentenceslike a man who is out of breath. "Mr. Gibson is coming. Mr. Gibson ismy employer. I am manager of his estate. Mr. Holmes, he is a villain--an infernal villain."

"Strong language, Mr. Bates."

"I have to be emphatic, Mr. Holmes, for the time is so limited. I wouldnot have him find me here for the world. He is almost due now. But Iwas so situated that I could not come earlier. His secretary, Mr.Ferguson, only told me this morning of his appointment with you."

"And you are his manager?"

"I have given him notice. In a couple of weeks I shall have shaken offhis accursed slavery. A hard man, Mr. Holmes, hard to all about him.Those public charities are a screen to cover his private iniquities.But his wife was his chief victim. He was brutal to her--yes, sir,brutal! How she came by her death I do not know, but I am sure that hehad made her life a misery to her. She was a creature of the tropics, aBrazilian by birth, as no doubt you know."

"No, it had escaped me."

"Tropical by birth and tropical by nature. A child of the sun and ofpassion. She had loved him as such women can love, but when her ownphysical charms had faded--I am told that they once were great--there was nothing to hold him. We all liked her and felt for her andhated him for the way that he treated her. But he is plausible andcunning. That is all I have to say to you. Don't take him at his facevalue. There is more behind. Now I'll go. No, no, don't detain me! Heis almost due."

With a frightened look at the clock our strange visitor literally ranto the door and disappeared.

"Well! Well!" said Holmes after an interval of silence. "Mr. Gibsonseems to have a nice loyal household. But the warning is a useful one,and now we can only wait till the man himself appears."

Sharp at the hour we heard a heavy step upon the stairs, and the famousmillionaire was shown into the room. As I looked upon him I understoodnot only the fears and dislike of his manager but also the execrationswhich so many business rivals have heaped upon his head. If I were asculptor and desired to idealize the successful man of affairs, iron ofnerve and leathery of conscience, I should choose Mr. Neil Gibson as mymodel. His tall, gaunt, craggy figure had a suggestion of hunger andrapacity. An Abraham Lincoln keyed to base uses instead of high oneswould give some idea of the man. His face might have been chiselled ingranite, hard-set, craggy, remorseless, with deep lines upon it, thescars of many a crisis. Cold gray eyes, looking shrewdly out from underbristling brows, surveyed us each in turn. He bowed in perfunctoryfashion as Holmes mentioned my name, and then with a masterful air ofpossession he drew a chair up to my companion and seated himself withhis bony knees almost touching him.

"Let me say right here, Mr. Holmes," he began, "that money is nothingto me in this case. You can burn it if it's any use in lighting you tothe truth. This woman is innocent and this woman has to be cleared, andit's up to you to do it. Name your figure!"

"My professional charges are upon a fixed scale," said Holmes coldly."I do not vary them, save when I remit them altogether."

"Well, if dollars make no difference to you, think of the reputation.If you pull this off every paper in England and America will be boomingyou. You'll be the talk of two continents."

"Thank you, Mr. Gibson, I do not think that I am in need of booming. Itmay surprise you to know that I prefer to work anonymously, and that itis the problem itself which attracts me. But we are wasting time. Letus get down to the facts."

"I think that you will find all the main ones in the press reports. Idon't know that I can add anything which will help you. But if there isanything you would wish more light upon--well, I am here to give it."

"Well, there is just one point."

"What is it?"

"What were the exact relations between you and Miss Dunbar?"

The Gold King gave a violent start and half rose from his chair. Thenhis massive calm came back to him.

"Then I can assure you that our relations were entirely and alwaysthose of an employer towards a young lady whom he never conversed with,or ever saw, save when she was in the company of his children."

Holmes rose from his chair.

"I am a rather busy man, Mr. Gibson," said he, "and I have no time ortaste for aimless conversations. I wish you goodmorning."

Our visitor had risen also, and his great loose figure towered aboveHolmes. There was an angry gleam from under those bristling brows and atinge of colour in the sallow cheeks.

"What the devil do you mean by this, Mr. Holmes? Do you dismiss mycase?"

"Well, Mr. Gibson, at least I dismiss you. I should have thought mywords were plain."

"Plain enough, but what's at the back of it? Raising the price on me,or afraid to tackle it, or what? I've a right to a plain answer."

"Well, perhaps you have," said Holmes. "I'll give you one. This case isquite sufficiently complicated to start with without the furtherdifficulty of false information."

"Meaning that I lie."

"Well, I was trying to express it as delicately as I could, but if youinsist upon the word I will not contradict you."

I sprang to my feet, for the expression upon the millionaire's face wasfiendish in its intensity, and he had raised his great knotted fist.Holmes smiled languidly and reached his hand out for his pipe.

"Don't be noisy, Mr. Gibson. I find that after breakfast even thesmallest argument is unsettling. I suggest that a stroll in the morningair and a little quiet thought will be greatly to your advantage."

With an effort the Gold King mastered his fury. I could not but admirehim, for by a supreme self-command he had turned in a minute from a hotflame of anger to a frigid and contemptuous indifference.

"Well, it's your choice. I guess you know how to run your own business.I can't make you touch the case against your will. You've done yourselfno good this morning, Mr. Holmes, for I have broken stronger men thanyou. No man ever crossed me and was the better for it."

"So many have said so, and yet here I am," said Holmes, smiling. "Well,good-morning, Mr. Gibson. You have a good deal yet to learn."

Our visitor made a noisy exit, but Holmes smoked in imperturbablesilence with dreamy eyes fixed upon the ceiling.

"Any views, Watson?" he asked at last.

"Well, Holmes, I must confess that when I consider that this is a manwho would certainly brush any obstacle from his path, and when Iremember that his wife may have been an obstacle and an object ofdislike, as that man Bates plainly told us, it seems to me--"

"Exactly. And to me also."

"But what were his relations with the governess, and how did youdiscover them?"

"Bluff, Watson, bluff! When I considered the passionate,unconventional, unbusinesslike tone of his letter and contrasted itwith his self-contained manner and appearance, it was pretty clear thatthere was some deep emotion which centred upon the accused woman ratherthan upon the victim. We've got to understand the exact relations ofthose three people if we are to reach the truth. You saw the frontalattack which I made upon him, and how imperturbably he received it.Then I bluffed him by giving him the impression that I was absolutelycertain, when in reality I was only extremely suspicious."

"Perhaps he will come back?"

"He is sure to come back. He must come back. He can't leave it where itis. Ha! isn't that a ring? Yes, there is his footstep. Well, Mr.Gibson, I was just saying to Dr. Watson that you were somewhatoverdue."

The Gold King had reentered the room in a more chastened mood than hehad left it. His wounded pride still showed in his resentful eyes, buthis common sense had shown him that he must yield if he would attainhis end.

"I've been thinking it over, Mr. Holmes, and I feel that I have beenhasty in taking your remarks amiss. You are justified in getting downto the facts, whatever they may be, and I think the more of you for it.I can assure you, however, that the relations between Miss Dunbar andme don't really touch this case."

"That is for me to decide, is it not?"

"Yes, I guess that is so. You're like a surgeon who wants every symptombefore he can give his diagnosis."

"Exactly. That expresses it. And it is only a patient who has an objectin deceiving his surgeon who would conceal the facts of his case."

"That may be so, but you will admit, Mr. Holmes, that most men wouldshy off a bit when they are asked point-blank what their relations witha woman may be--if there is really some serious feeling in the case.I guess most men have a little private reserve of their own in somecorner of their souls where they don't welcome intruders. And you burstsuddenly into it. But the object excuses you, since it was to try andsave her. Well, the stakes are down and the reserve open, and you canexplore where you will. What is it you want?"

"The truth."

The Gold King paused for a moment as one who marshals his thoughts. Hisgrim, deep-lined face had become even sadder and more grave.

"I can give it to you in a very few words, Mr. Holmes," said he atlast. "There are some things that are painful as well as difficult tosay, so I won't go deeper than is needful. I met my wife when I wasgold-hunting in Brazil. Maria Pinto was the daughter of a governmentofficial at Manaos, and she was very beautiful. I was young and ardentin those days, but even now, as I look back with colder blood and amore critical eye, I can see that she was rare and wonderful in herbeauty. It was a deep rich nature, too, passionate, whole-hearted,tropical, ill-balanced, very different from the American women whom Ihad known. Well, to make a long story short, I loved her and I marriedher. It was only when the romance had passed--and it lingered foryears--that I realized that we had nothing--absolutely nothing--in common. My love faded. If hers had faded also it might have beeneasier. But you know the wonderful way of women! Do what I might,nothing could turn her from me. If I have been harsh to her, evenbrutal as some have said, it has been because I knew that if I couldkill her love, or if it turned to hate, it would be easier for both ofus. But nothing changed her. She adored me in those English woods asshe had adored me twenty years ago on the banks of the Amazon. Do whatI might, she was as devoted as ever.

"Then came Miss Grace Dunbar. She answered our advertisement and becamegoverness to our two children. Perhaps you have seen her portrait inthe papers. The whole world has proclaimed that she also is a verybeautiful woman. Now, I make no pretence to be more moral than myneighbours, and I will admit to you that I could not live under thesame roof with such a woman and in daily contact with her withoutfeeling a passionate regard for her. Do you blame me, Mr. Holmes?"

"I do not blame you for feeling it. I should blame you if you expressedit, since this young lady was in a sense under your protection."

"Well, maybe so," said the millionaire, though for a moment the reproofhad brought the old angry gleam into his eyes. "I'm not pretending tobe any better than I am. I guess all my life I've been a man thatreached out his hand for what he wanted, and I never wanted anythingmore than the love and possession of that woman. I told her so."

"Oh, you did, did you?"

Holmes could look very formidable when he was moved.

"I said to her that if I could marry her I would, but that it was outof my power. I said that money was no object and that all I could do tomake her happy and comfortable would be done."

"Very generous, I am sure," said Holmes with a sneer.

"See here, Mr. Holmes. I came to you on a question of evidence, not ona question of morals. I'm not asking for your criticism."

"It is only for the young lady's sake that I touch your case at all,"said Holmes sternly. "I don't know that anything she is accused of isreally worse than what you have yourself admitted, that you have triedto ruin a defenceless girl who was under your roof. Some of you richmen have to be taught that all the world cannot be bribed intocondoning your offences."

To my surprise the Gold King took the reproof with equanimity.

"That's how I feel myself about it now. I thank God that my plans didnot work out as I intended. She would have none of it, and she wantedto leave the house instantly."

"Why did she not?"

"Well, in the first place, others were dependent upon her, and it wasno light matter for her to let them all down by sacrificing her living.When I had sworn--as I did--that she should never be molestedagain, she consented to remain. But there was another reason. She knewthe influence she had over me, and that it was stronger than any otherinfluence in the world. She wanted to use it for good."

"How?"

"Well, she knew something of my affairs. They are large, Mr. Holmes--large beyond the belief of an ordinary man. I can make or break--andit is usually break. It wasn't individuals only. It was communities,cities, even nations. Business is a hard game, and the weak go to thewall. I played the game for all it was worth. I never squealed myself,and I never cared if the other fellow squealed. But she saw itdifferent. I guess she was right. She believed and said that a fortunefor one man that was more than he needed should not be built on tenthousand ruined men who were left without the means of life. That washow she saw it, and I guess she could see past the dollars to somethingthat was more lasting. She found that I listened to what she said, andshe believed she was serving the world by influencing my actions. Soshe stayed--and then this came along."

"Can you throw any light upon that?"

The Gold King paused for a minute or more, his head sunk in his hands,lost in deep thought.

"It's very black against her. I can't deny that. And women lead aninward life and may do things beyond the judgment of a man. At first Iwas so rattled and taken aback that I was ready to think she had beenled away in some extraordinary fashion that was clean against her usualnature. One explanation came into my head. I give it to you, Mr.Holmes, for what it is worth. There is no doubt that my wife wasbitterly jealous. There is a soul-jealousy that can be as frantic asany body-jealousy, and though my wife had no cause--and I think sheunderstood this--for the latter, she was aware that this English girlexerted an influence upon my mind and my acts that she herself neverhad. It was an influence for good, but that did not mend the matter.She was crazy with hatred and the heat of the Amazon was always in herblood. She might have planned to murder Miss Dunbar--or we will sayto threaten her with a gun and so frighten her into leaving us. Thenthere might have been a scuffle and the gun gone off and shot the womanwho held it."

"That possibility had already occurred to me," said Holmes. "Indeed, itis the only obvious alternative to deliberate murder."

"But she utterly denies it."

"Well, that is not final--is it? One can understand that a womanplaced in so awful a position might hurry home still in herbewilderment holding the revolver. She might even throw it down amongher clothes, hardly knowing what she was doing, and when it was foundshe might try to lie her way out by a total denial, since allexplanation was impossible. What is against such a supposition?"

"Miss Dunbar herself."

"Well, perhaps."

Holmes looked at his watch. "I have no doubt we can get the necessarypermits this morning and reach Winchester by the evening train. When Ihave seen this young lady it is very possible that I may be of more useto you in the matter, though I cannot promise that my conclusions willnecessarily be such as you desire."

There was some delay in the official pass, and instead of reachingWinchester that day we went down to Thor Place, the Hampshire estate ofMr. Neil Gibson. He did not accompany us himself, but we had theaddress of Sergeant Coventry, of the local police, who had firstexamined into the affair. He was a tall, thin, cadaverous man, with asecretive and mysterious manner which conveyed the idea that he knew orsuspected a very great deal more than he dared say. He had a trick,too, of suddenly sinking his voice to a whisper as if he had come uponsomething of vital importance, though the information was usuallycommonplace enough. Behind these tricks of manner he soon showedhimself to be a decent, honest fellow who was not too proud to admitthat he was out of his depth and would welcome any help.

"Anyhow, I'd rather have you than Scotland Yard, Mr. Holmes," said he."If the Yard gets called into a case, then the local loses all creditfor success and may be blamed for failure. Now, you play straight, soI've heard."

"I need not appear in the matter at all," said Holmes to the evidentrelief of our melancholy acquaintance. "If I can clear it up I don'task to have my name mentioned."

"Well, it's very handsome of you, I am sure. And your friend, Dr.Watson, can be trusted, I know. Now, Mr. Holmes, as we walk down to theplace there is one question I should like to ask you. I'd breathe it tono soul but you." He looked round as though he hardly dare utter thewords. "Don't you think there might be a case against Mr. Neil Gibsonhimself?"

"I have been considering that."

"You've not seen Miss Dunbar. She is a wonderful fine woman in everyway. He may well have wished his wife out of the road. And theseAmericans are readier with pistols than our folk are. It was hispistol, you know."

"Was that clearly made out?"

"Yes, sir. It was one of a pair that he had."

"One of a pair? Where is the other?"

"Well, the gentleman has a lot of firearms of one sort and another. Wenever quite matched that particular pistol--but the box was made fortwo."

"If it was one of a pair you should surely be able to match it."

"Well, we have them all laid out at the house if you would care to lookthem over."

"Later, perhaps. I think we will walk down together and have a look atthe scene of the tragedy."

This conversation had taken place in the little front room of SergeantCoventry's humble cottage which served as the local police-station. Awalk of half a mile or so across a wind-swept heath, all gold andbronze with the fading ferns, brought us to a side-gate opening intothe grounds of the Thor Place estate. A path led us through thepheasant preserves, and then from a clearing we saw the widespread,half-timbered house, half Tudor and half Georgian, upon the crest ofthe hill. Beside us there was a long, reedy pool, constricted in thecentre where the main carriage drive passed over a stone bridge, butswelling into small lakes on either side. Our guide paused at the mouthof this bridge, and he pointed to the ground.

"That was where Mrs. Gibson's body lay. I marked it by that stone."

"I understand that you were there before it was moved?"

"Yes, they sent for me at once."

"Who did?"

"Mr. Gibson himself. The moment the alarm was given and he had rusheddown with others from the house, he insisted that nothing should bemoved until the police should arrive."

"That was sensible. I gathered from the newspaper report that the shotwas fired from close quarters."

"Yes, sir, very close."

"Near the right temple?"

"Just behind it, sir."

"How did the body lie?"

"On the back, sir. No trace of a struggle. No marks. No weapon. Theshort note from Miss Dunbar was clutched in her left hand."

"Clutched, you say?"

"Yes, sir, we could hardly open the fingers."

"That is of great importance. It excludes the idea that anyone couldhave placed the note there after death in order to furnish a falseclue. Dear me! The note, as I remember, was quite short:

"'I will be at Thor Bridge at nine o'clock. G. DUNBAR.'

"Was that not so?"

"Yes, sir."

"Did Miss Dunbar admit writing it?"

"Yes, sir."

"What was her explanation?"

"Her defence was reserved for the Assizes. She would say nothing."

"The problem is certainly a very interesting one. The point of theletter is very obscure, is it not?"

"Well, sir," said the guide, "it seemed, if I may be so bold as to sayso, the only really clear point in the whole case."

Holmes shook his head.

"Granting that the letter is genuine and was really written, it wascertainly received some time before--say one hour or two. Why, then,was this lady still clasping it in her left hand? Why should she carryit so carefully? She did not need to refer to it in the interview. Doesit not seem remarkable?"

"Well, sir, as you put it, perhaps it does."

"I think I should like to sit quietly for a few minutes and think itout." He seated himself upon the stone ledge of the bridge, and I couldsee his quick gray eyes darting their questioning glances in everydirection. Suddenly he sprang up again and ran across to the oppositeparapet, whipped his lens from his pocket, and began to examine thestonework.

"This is curious," said he.

"Yes, sir, we saw the chip on the ledge. I expect it's been done bysome passer-by."

The stonework was gray, but at this one point it showed white for aspace not larger than a sixpence. When examined closely one could seethat the surface was chipped as by a sharp blow.

"It took some violence to do that," said Holmes thoughtfully. With hiscane he struck the ledge several times without leaving a mark. "Yes, itwas a hard knock. In a curious place, too. It was not from above butfrom below, for you see that it is on the lower edge of the parapet."

"But it is at least fifteen feet from the body."

"Yes, it is fifteen feet from the body. It may have nothing to do withthe matter, but it is a point worth noting. I do not think that we haveanything more to learn here. There were no footsteps, you say?"

"The ground was iron hard, sir. There were no traces at all."

"Then we can go. We will go up to the house first and look over theseweapons of which you speak. Then we shall get on to Winchester, for Ishould desire to see Miss Dunbar before we go farther."

Mr. Neil Gibson had not returned from town, but we saw in the house theneurotic Mr. Bates who had called upon us in the morning. He showed uswith a sinister relish the formidable array of firearms of variousshapes and sizes which his employer had accumulated in the course of anadventurous life.

"Mr. Gibson has his enemies, as anyone would expect who knew him andhis methods," said he. "He sleeps with a loaded revolver in the drawerbeside his bed. He is a man of violence, sir, and there are times whenall of us are afraid of him. I am sure that the poor lady who haspassed was often terrified."

"Did you ever witness physical violence towards her?"

"No, I cannot say that. But I have heard words which were nearly as bad--words of cold, cutting contempt, even before the servants."

"Our millionaire does not seem to shine in private life," remarkedHolmes as we made our way to the station. "Well, Watson, we have comeon a good many facts, some of them new ones, and yet I seem some wayfrom my conclusion. In spite of the very evident dislike which Mr.Bates has to his employer, I gather from him that when the alarm camehe was undoubtedly in his library. Dinner was over at 8:30 and all wasnormal up to then. It is true that the alarm was somewhat late in theevening, but the tragedy certainly occurred about the hour named in thenote. There is no evidence at all that Mr. Gibson had been out of doorssince his return from town at five o'clock. On the other hand, MissDunbar, as I understand it, admits that she had made an appointment tomeet Mrs. Gibson at the bridge. Beyond this she would say nothing, asher lawyer had advised her to reserve her defence. We have several veryvital questions to ask that young lady, and my mind will not be easyuntil we have seen her. I must confess that the case would seem to meto be very black against her if it were not for one thing."

"And what is that, Holmes?"

"The finding of the pistol in her wardrobe."

"Dear me, Holmes!" I cried, "that seemed to me to be the most damningincident of all."

"Not so, Watson. It had struck me even at my first perfunctory readingas very strange, and now that I am in closer touch with the case it ismy only firm ground for hope. We must look for consistency. Where thereis a want of it we must suspect deception."

"I hardly follow you."

"Well now, Watson, suppose for a moment that we visualize you in thecharacter of a woman who, in a cold, premeditated fashion, is about toget rid of a rival. You have planned it. A note has been written. Thevictim has come. You have your weapon. The crime is done. It has beenworkmanlike and complete. Do you tell me that after carrying out socrafty a crime you would now ruin your reputation as a criminal byforgetting to fling your weapon into those adjacent reed-beds whichwould forever cover it, but you must needs carry it carefully home andput it in your own wardrobe, the very first place that would besearched? Your best friends would hardly call you a schemer, Watson,and yet I could not picture you doing anything so crude as that."

"In the excitement of the moment."

"No, no, Watson, I will not admit that it is possible. Where a crime iscoolly premeditated, then the means of covering it are coollypremeditated also. I hope, therefore, that we are in the presence of aserious misconception."

"But there is so much to explain."

"Well, we shall set about explaining it. When once your point of viewis changed, the very thing which was so damning becomes a clue to thetruth. For example, there is this revolver. Miss Dunbar disclaims allknowledge of it. On our new theory she is speaking truth when she saysso. Therefore, it was placed in her wardrobe. Who placed it there?Someone who wished to incriminate her. Was not that person the actualcriminal? You see how we come at once upon a most fruitful line ofinquiry."

We were compelled to spend the night at Winchester, as the formalitieshad not yet been completed, but next morning, in the company of Mr.Joyce Cummings, the rising barrister who was entrusted with thedefence, we were allowed to see the young lady in her cell. I hadexpected from all that we had heard to see a beautiful woman, but I cannever forget the effect which Miss Dunbar produced upon me. It was nowonder that even the masterful millionaire had found in her somethingmore powerful than himself--something which could control and guidehim. One felt, too, as one looked at the strong, clear-cut, and yetsensitive face, that even should she be capable of some impetuous deed,none the less there was an innate nobility of character which wouldmake her influence always for the good. She was a brunette, tall, witha noble figure and commanding presence, but her dark eyes had in themthe appealing, helpless expression of the hunted creature who feels thenets around it, but can see no way out from the toils. Now, as sherealized the presence and the help of my famous friend, there came atouch of colour in her wan cheeks and a light of hope began to glimmerin the glance which she turned upon us.

"Perhaps Mr. Neil Gibson has told you something of what occurredbetween us?" she asked in a low, agitated voice.

"Yes," Holmes answered, "you need not pain yourself by entering intothat part of the story. After seeing you, I am prepared to accept Mr.Gibson's statement both as to the influence which you had over him andas to the innocence of your relations with him. But why was the wholesituation not brought out in court?"

"It seemed to me incredible that such a charge could be sustained. Ithought that if we waited the whole thing must clear itself up withoutour being compelled to enter into painful details of the inner life ofthe family. But I understand that far from clearing it has become evenmore serious."

"My dear young lady," cried Holmes earnestly, "I beg you to have noillusions upon the point. Mr. Cummings here would assure you that allthe cards are at present against us, and that we must do everythingthat is possible if we are to win clear. It would be a cruel deceptionto pretend that you are not in very great danger. Give me all the helpyou can, then, to get at the truth."

"I will conceal nothing."

"Tell us, then, of your true relations with Mr. Gibson's wife."

"She hated me, Mr. Holmes. She hated me with all the fervour of hertropical nature. She was a woman who would do nothing by halves, andthe measure of her love for her husband was the measure also of herhatred for me. It is probable that she misunderstood our relations. Iwould not wish to wrong her, but she loved so vividly in a physicalsense that she could hardly understand the mental, and even spiritual,tie which held her husband to me, or imagine that it was only my desireto influence his power to good ends which kept me under his roof. I cansee now that I was wrong. Nothing could justify me in remaining where Iwas a cause of unhappiness, and yet it is certain that the unhappinesswould have remained even if I had left the house."

"Now, Miss Dunbar," said Holmes, "I beg you to tell us exactly whatoccurred that evening."

"I can tell you the truth so far as I know it, Mr. Holmes, but I am ina position to prove nothing, and there are points--the most vitalpoints--which I can neither explain nor can I imagine anyexplanation."

"If you will find the facts, perhaps others may find the explanation."

"With regard, then, to my presence at Thor Bridge that night, Ireceived a note from Mrs. Gibson in the morning. It lay on the table ofthe schoolroom, and it may have been left there by her own hand. Itimplored me to see her there after dinner, said she had somethingimportant to say to me, and asked me to leave an answer on the sundialin the garden, as she desired no one to be in our confidence. I saw noreason for such secrecy, but I did as she asked, accepting theappointment. She asked me to destroy her note and I burned it in theschoolroom grate. She was very much afraid of her husband, who treatedher with a harshness for which I frequently reproached him, and I couldonly imagine that she acted in this way because she did not wish him toknow of our interview."

"Yet she kept your reply very carefully?"

"Yes. I was surprised to hear that she had it in her hand when shedied."

"Well, what happened then?"

"I went down as I had promised. When I reached the bridge she waswaiting for me. Never did I realize till that moment how this poorcreature hated me. She was like a mad woman--indeed, I think she wasa mad woman, subtly mad with the deep power of deception which insanepeople may have. How else could she have met me with unconcern everyday and yet had so raging a hatred of me in her heart? I will not saywhat she said. She poured her whole wild fury out in burning andhorrible words. I did not even answer--I could not. It was dreadfulto see her. I put my hands to my ears and rushed away. When I left hershe was standing, still shrieking out her curses at me, in the mouth ofthe bridge."

"Where she was afterwards found?"

"Within a few yards from the spot."

"And yet, presuming that she met her death shortly after you left her,you heard no shot?"

"No, I heard nothing. But, indeed, Mr. Holmes, I was so agitated andhorrified by this terrible outbreak that I rushed to get back to thepeace of my own room, and I was incapable of noticing anything whichhappened."

"You say that you returned to your room. Did you leave it again beforenext morning?"

"Yes, when the alarm came that the poor creature had met her death Iran out with the others."

"Did you see Mr. Gibson?"

"Yes, he had just returned from the bridge when I saw him. He had sentfor the doctor and the police."

"Did he seem to you much perturbed?"

"Mr. Gibson is a very strong, self-contained man. I do not think thathe would ever show his emotions on the surface. But I, who knew him sowell, could see that he was deeply concerned."

"Then we come to the all-important point. This pistol that was found inyour room. Had you ever seen it before?"

"Never, I swear it."

"When was it found?"

"Next morning, when the police made their search."

"Among your clothes?"

"Yes, on the floor of my wardrobe under my dresses."

"You could not guess how long it had been there?"

"It had not been there the morning before."

"How do you know?"

"Because I tidied out the wardrobe."

"That is final. Then someone came into your room and placed the pistolthere in order to inculpate you."

"It must have been so."

"And when?"

"It could only have been at meal-time, or else at the hours when Iwould be in the schoolroom with the children."

"As you were when you got the note?"

"Yes, from that time onward for the whole morning."

"Thank you, Miss Dunbar. Is there any other point which could help mein the investigation?"

"I can think of none."

"There was some sign of violence on the stonework of the bridge--aperfectly fresh chip just opposite the body. Could you suggest anypossible explanation of that?"

"Surely it must be a mere coincidence."

"Curious, Miss Dunbar, very curious. Why should it appear at the verytime of the tragedy, and why at the very place?"

"But what could have caused it? Only great violence could have such aneffect."

Holmes did not answer. His pale, eager face had suddenly assumed thattense, far-away expression which I had learned to associate with thesupreme manifestations of his genius. So evident was the crisis in hismind that none of us dared to speak, and we sat, barrister, prisoner,and myself, watching him in a concentrated and absorbed silence.Suddenly he sprang from his chair, vibrating with nervous energy andthe pressing need for action.

"Come, Watson, come!" he cried.

"What is it, Mr. Holmes?"

"Never mind, my dear lady. You will hear from me, Mr. Cummings. Withthe help of the god of justice I will give you a case which will makeEngland ring. You will get news by to-morrow, Miss Dunbar, andmeanwhile take my assurance that the clouds are lifting and that I haveevery hope that the light of truth is breaking through."

It was not a long journey from Winchester to Thor Place, but it waslong to me in my impatience, while for Holmes it was evident that itseemed endless; for, in his nervous restlessness he could not sitstill, but paced the carriage or drummed with his long, sensitivefingers upon the cushions beside him. Suddenly, however, as we nearedour destination he seated himself opposite to me--we had afirst-class carriage to ourselves--and laying a hand upon each of myknees he looked into my eyes with the peculiarly mischievous gaze whichwas charactenstic of his more imp-like moods.

"Watson," said he, "I have some recollection that you go armed uponthese excursions of ours."

It was as well for him that I did so, for he took little care for hisown safety when his mind was once absorbed by a problem so that morethan once my revolver had been a good friend in need. I reminded him ofthe fact.

"Yes, yes, I am a little absent-minded in such matters. But have youyour revolver on you?"

I produced it from my hip-pocket, a short, handy, but very serviceablelittle weapon. He undid the catch, shook out the cartridges, andexamined it with care.

"It's heavy--remarkably heavy," said he.

"Yes, it is a solid bit of work."

He mused over it for a minute.

"Do you know, Watson," said he, "I believe your revolver is going tohave a very intimate connection with the mystery which we areinvestigating."

"My dear Holmes, you are joking."

"No, Watson, I am very serious. There is a test before us. If the testcomes off, all will be clear. And the test will depend upon the conductof this little weapon. One cartridge out. Now we will replace the otherfive and put on the safety-catch. So! That increases the weight andmakes it a better reproduction."

I had no glimmer of what was in his mind, nor did he enlighten me, butsat lost in thought until we pulled up in the little Hampshire station.We secured a ramshackle trap, and in a quarter of an hour were at thehouse of our confidential friend, the sergeant.

"A clue, Mr. Holmes? What is it?"

"It all depends upon the behaviour of Dr. Watson's revolver," said myfriend. "Here it is. Now, officer, can you give me ten yards ofstring?"

The village shop provided a ball of stout twine.

"I think that this is all we will need," said Holmes. "Now, if youplease, we will get off on what I hope is the last stage of ourjourney."

The sun was setting and turning the rolling Hampshire moor into awonderful autumnal panorama. The sergeant, with many critical andincredulous glances, which showed his deep doubts of the sanity of mycompanion, lurched along beside us. As we approached the scene of thecrime I could see that my friend under all his habitual coolness was intruth deeply agitated.

"Yes," he said in answer to my remark, "you have seen me miss my markbefore, Watson. I have an instinct for such things, and yet it hassometimes played me false. It seemed a certainty when first it flashedacross my mind in the cell at Winchester, but one drawback of an activemind is that one can always conceive alternative explanations whichwould make our scent a false one. And yet--and yet--Well, Watson,we can but try."

As he walked he had firmly tied one end of the string to the handle ofthe revolver. We had now reached the scene of the tragedy. With greatcare he marked out under the guidance of the policeman the exact spotwhere the body had been stretched. He then hunted among the heather andthe ferns until he found a considerable stone. This he secured to theother end of his line of string, and he hung it over the parapet of thebridge so that it swung clear above the water. He then stood on thefatal spot, some distance from the edge of the bridge, with my revolverin his hand, the string being taut between the weapon and the heavystone on the farther side.

"Now for it!" he cried.

At the words he raised the pistol to his head, and then let go hisgrip. In an instant it had been whisked away by the weight of thestone, had struck with a sharp crack against the parapet, and hadvanished over the side into the water. It had hardly gone before Holmeswas kneeling beside the stonework, and a joyous cry showed that he hadfound what he expected.

"Was there ever a more exact demonstration?" he cried. "See, Watson,your revolver has solved the problem!" As he spoke he pointed to asecond chip of the exact size and shape of the first which had appearedon the under edge of the stone balustrade.

"We'll stay at the inn to-night," he continued as he rose and faced theastonished sergeant. "You will, of course, get a grappling-hook and youwill easily restore my friend's revolver. You will also find beside itthe revolver, string and weight with which this vindictive womanattempted to disguise her own crime and to fasten a charge of murderupon an innocent victim. You can let Mr. Gibson know that I will seehim in the morning, when steps can be taken for Miss Dunbar'svindication."

Late that evening, as we sat together smoking our pipes in the villageinn, Holmes gave me a brief review of what had passed.

"I fear, Watson," said he, "that you will not improve any reputationwhich I may have acquired by adding the case of the Thor Bridge mysteryto your annals. I have been sluggish in mind and wanting in thatmixture of imagination and reality which is the basis of my art. Iconfess that the chip in the stonework was a sufficient clue to suggestthe true solution, and that I blame myself for not having attained itsooner.

"It must be admitted that the workings of this unhappy woman's mindwere deep and subtle, so that it was no very simple matter to unravelher plot. I do not think that in our adventures we have ever comeacross a stranger example of what perverted love can bring about.Whether Miss Dunbar was her rival in a physical or in a merely mentalsense seems to have been equally unforgivable in her eyes. No doubt sheblamed this innocent lady for all those harsh dealings and unkind wordswith which her husband tried to repel her too demonstrative affection.Her first resolution was to end her own life. Her second was to do itin such a way as to involve her victim in a fate which was worse farthan any sudden death could be.

"We can follow the various steps quite clearly, and they show aremarkable subtlety of mind. A note was extracted very cleverly fromMiss Dunbar which would make it appear that she had chosen the scene ofthe crime. In her anxiety that it should be discovered she somewhatoverdid it by holding it in her hand to the last. This alone shouldhave excited my suspicions earlier than it did.

"Then she took one of her husband's revolvers--there was, as you saw,an arsenal in the house--and kept it for her own use. A similar oneshe concealed that morning in Miss Dunbar's wardrobe after dischargingone barrel, which she could easily do in the woods without attractingattention. She then went down to the bridge where she had contrivedthis exceedingly ingenious method for getting rid of her weapon. WhenMiss Dunbar appeared she used her last breath in pouring out herhatred, and then, when she was out of hearing, carried out her terriblepurpose. Every link is now in its place and the chain is complete. Thepapers may ask why the mere was not dragged in the first instance, butit is easy to be wise after the event, and in any case the expanse of areed-filled lake is no easy matter to drag unless you have a clearperception of what you are looking for and where. Well, Watson, we havehelped a remarkable woman, and also a formidable man. Should they inthe future join their forces, as seems not unlikely, the financialworld may find that Mr. Neil Gibson has learned something in thatschoolroom of sorrow where our earthly lessons are taught."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE CREEPING MAN

Mr. Sherlock Holmes was always of opinion that I should publish thesingular facts connected with Professor Presbury, if only to dispelonce for all the ugly rumours which some twenty years ago agitated theuniversity and were echoed in the learned societies of London. Therewere, however, certain obstacles in the way, and the true history ofthis curious case remained entombed in the tin box which contains somany records of my friend's adventures. Now we have at last obtainedpermission to ventilate the facts which formed one of the very lastcases handled by Holmes before his retirement from practice. Even now acertain reticence and discretion have to be observed in laying thematter before the public.

It was one Sunday evening early in September of the year 1903 that Ireceived one of Holmes's laconic messages:

Come at once if convenient--if inconvenient come all the same. S.H.

The relations between us in those latter days were peculiar. He was aman of habits, narrow and concentrated habits, and I had become one ofthem. As an institution I was like the violin, the shag tobacco, theold black pipe, the index books, and others perhaps less excusable.When it was a case of active work and a comrade was needed upon whosenerve he could place some reliance, my role was obvious. But apart fromthis I had uses. I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. Heliked to think aloud in my presence. His remarks could hardly be saidto be made to me--many of them would have been as appropriatelyaddressed to his bedstead--but none the less, having formed thehabit, it had become in some way helpful that I should register andinterject. If I irritated him by a certain methodical slowness in mymentality, that irritation served only to make his own flame-likeintuitions and impressions flash up the more vividly and swiftly. Suchwas my humble role in our alliance.

When I arrived at Baker Street I found him huddled up in his armchairwith updrawn knees, his pipe in his mouth and his brow furrowed withthought. It was clear that he was in the throes of some vexatiousproblem. With a wave of his hand he indicated my old armchair, butotherwise for half an hour he gave no sign that he was aware of mypresence. Then with a start he seemed to come from his reverie, andwith his usual whimsical smile he greeted me back to what had once beenmy home.

"You will excuse a certain abstraction of mind, my dear Watson," saidhe. "Some curious facts have been submitted to me within the lasttwenty-four hours, and they in turn have given rise to somespeculations of a more general character. I have serious thoughts ofwriting a small monograph upon the uses of dogs in the work of thedetective."

"But surely, Holmes, this has been explored," said I. "Bloodhounds--sleuth-hounds--"

"No, no, Watson, that side of the matter is, of course, obvious. Butthere is another which is far more subtle. You may recollect that inthe case which you, in your sensational way, coupled with the CopperBeeches, I was able, by watching the mind of the child, to form adeduction as to the criminal habits of the very smug and respectablefather."

"Yes, I remember it well."

"My line of thoughts about dogs is analogous. A dog reflects the familylife. Whoever saw a frisky dog in a gloomy family, or a sad dog in ahappy one? Snarling people have snarling dogs, dangerous people havedangerous ones. And their passing moods may reflect the passing moodsof others."

I shook my head. "Surely, Holmes, this is a little far-fetched," saidI.

He had refilled his pipe and resumed his seat, taking no notice of mycomment.

"The practical application of what I have said is very close to theproblem which I am investigating. It is a tangled skein, youunderstand. and I am looking for a loose end. One possible loose endlies in the question: Why does Professor Presbury's wolfhound, Roy,endeavour to bite him?"

I sank back in my chair in some disappointment. Was it for so trivial aquestion as this that I had been summoned from my work? Holmes glancedacross at me.

"The same old Watson!" said he. "You never learn that the gravestissues may depend upon the smallest things. But is it not on the faceof it strange that a staid, elderly philosopher--you've heard ofPresbury, of course, the famous Camford physiologist?--that such aman, whose friend has been his devoted wolfhound, should now have beentwice attacked by his own dog? What do you make of it?"

"The dog is ill."

"Well, that has to be considered. But he attacks no one else, nor doeshe apparently molest his master, save on very special occasions.Curious, Watson--very curious. But young Mr. Bennett is before histime if that is his ring. I had hoped to have a longer chat with youbefore he came."

There was a quick step on the stairs, a sharp tap at the door and amoment later the new client presented himself. He was a tall, handsomeyouth about thirty, well dressed and elegant, but with something in hisbearing which suggested the shyness of the student rather than theself-possession of the man of the world. He shook hands with Holmes,and then looked with some surprise at me.

"This matter is very delicate, Mr. Holmes," he said. "Consider therelation in which I stand to Professor Presbury both privately andpublicly. I really can hardly justify myself if I speak before anythird person."

"Have no fear, Mr. Bennett. Dr. Watson is the very soul of discretion,and I can assure you that this is a matter in which I am very likely toneed an assistant."

"You will appreciate it, Watson, when I tell you that this gentleman,Mr. Trevor Bennett, is professional assistant to the great scientist,lives under his roof, and is engaged to his only daughter. Certainly wemust agree that the professor has every claim upon his loyalty anddevotion. But it may best be shown by taking the necessary steps toclear up this strange mystery."

"Then perhaps I had better go over the ground again before explainingsome fresh developments."

"I will do so myself," said Holmes, "in order to show that I have theevents in their due order. The professor, Watson, is a man of Europeanreputation. His life has been academic. There has never been a breathof scandal. He is a widower with one daughter, Edith. He is, I gather,a man of very virile and positive, one might almost say combative,character. So the matter stood until a very few months ago.

"Then the current of his life was broken. He is sixty-one years of age,but he became engaged to the daughter of Professor Morphy, hiscolleague in the chair of comparative anatomy. It was not, as Iunderstand, the reasoned courting of an elderly man but rather thepassionate frenzy of youth, for no one could have shown himself a moredevoted lover. The lady, Alice Morphy, was a very perfect girl both inmind and body, so that there was every excuse for the professor'sinfatuation. None the less, it did not meet with full approval in hisown family."

"We thought it rather excessive," said our visitor.

"Exactly. Excessive and a little violent and unnatural. ProfessorPresbury was rich, however, and there was no objection upon the part ofthe father. The daughter, however, had other views, and there werealready several candidates for her hand, who, if they were lesseligible from a worldly point of view, were at least more of an age.The girl seemed to like the professor in spite of his eccentricities.It was only age which stood in the way.

"About this time a little mystery suddenly clouded the normal routineof the professor's life. He did what he had never done before. He lefthome and gave no indication where he was going. He was away a fortnightand returned looking rather travel-worn. He made no allusion to wherehe had been, although he was usually the frankest of men. It chanced,however, that our client here, Mr. Bennett, received a letter from afellowstudent in Prague, who said that he was glad to have seenProfessor Presbury there, although he had not been able to talk to him.Only in this way did his own household learn where he had been.

"Now comes the point. From that time onward a curious change came overthe professor. He became furtive and sly. Those around him had alwaysthe feeling that he was not the man that they had known, but that hewas under some shadow which had darkened his higher qualities. Hisintellect was not affected. His lectures were as brilliant as ever. Butalways there was something new, something sinister and unexpected. Hisdaughter, who was devoted to him, tried again and again to resume theold relations and to penetrate this mask which her father seemed tohave put on. You, sir, as I understand, did the same--but all was invain. And now, Mr. Bennett, tell in your own words the incident of theletters."

"You must understand, Dr. Watson, that the professor had no secretsfrom me. If I were his son or his younger brother I could not have morecompletely enjoyed his confidence. As his secretary I handled everypaper which came to him, and I opened and subdivided his letters.Shortly after his return all this was changed. He told me that certainletters might come to him from London which would be marked by a crossunder the stamp. These were to be set aside for his own eyes only. Imay say that several of these did pass through my hands, that they hadthe E. C. mark, and were in an illiterate handwriting. If he answeredthem at all the answers did not pass through my hands nor into theletterbasket in which our correspondence was collected."

"And the box," said Holmes.

"Ah, yes, the box. The professor brought back a little wooden box fromhis travels. It was the one thing which suggested a Continental tour,for it was one of those quaint carved things which one associates withGermany. This he placed in his instrument cupboard. One day, in lookingfor a canula, I took up the box. To my surprise he was very angry, andreproved me in words which were quite savage for my curiosity. It wasthe first time such a thing had happened, and I was deeply hurt. Iendeavoured to explain that it was a mere accident that I had touchedthe box, but all the evening I was conscious that he looked at meharshly and that the incident was rankling in his mind." Mr. Bennettdrew a little diary book from his pocket. "That was on July 2d," saidhe.

"You are certainly an admirable witness," said Holmes. "I may need someof these dates which you have noted."

"I learned method among other things from my great teacher. From thetime that I observed abnormality in his behaviour I felt that it was myduty to study his case. Thus I have it here that it was on that veryday, July 2d, that Roy attacked the professor as he came from his studyinto the hall. Again, on July 11th, there was a scene of the same sort,and then I have a note of yet another upon July 20th. After that we hadto banish Roy to the stables. He was a dear, affectionate animal--butI fear I weary you."

Mr. Bennett spoke in a tone of reproach, for it was very clear thatHolmes was not listening. His face was rigid and his eyes gazedabstractedly at the ceiling. With an effort he recovered himself.

"Singular! Most singular!" he murmured. "These details were new to me,Mr. Bennett. I think we have now fairly gone over the old ground, havewe not? But you spoke of some fresh developments."

The pleasant, open face of our visitor clouded over, shadowed by somegrim remembrance. "What I speak of occurred the night before last,"said he. "I was lying awake about two in the morning, when I was awareof a dull muffled sound coming from the passage. I opened my door andpeeped out. I should explain that the professor sleeps at the end ofthe passage--"

"The date being?" asked Holmes.

Our visitor was clearly annoyed at so irrelevant an interruption.

"I have said, sir, that it was the night before last--that is,September 4th."

Holmes nodded and smiled.

"Pray continue," said he.

"He sleeps at the end of the passage and would have to pass my door inorder to reach the staircase. It was a really terrifying experience,Mr. Holmes. I think that I am as strong-nerved as my neighbours, but Iwas shaken by what I saw. The passage was dark save that one windowhalfway along it threw a patch of light. I could see that something wascoming along the passage, something dark and crouching. Then suddenlyit emerged into the light, and I saw that it was he. He was crawling,Mr. Holmes--crawling! He was not quite on his hands and knees. Ishould rather say on his hands and feet, with his face sunk between hishands. Yet he seemed to move with ease. I was so paralyzed by the sightthat it was not until he had reached my door that I was able to stepforward and ask if I could assist him. His answer was extraordinary. Hesprang up, spat out some atrocious word at me, and hurried on past me,and down the staircase. I waited about for an hour, but he did not comeback. It must have been daylight before he regained his room."

"Well, Watson, what make you of that?" asked Holmes with the air of thepathologist who presents a rare specimen.

"Lumbago, possibly. I have known a severe attack make a man walk injust such a way, and nothing would be more trying to the temper."

"Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed on the ground. But we canhardly accept lumbago, since he was able to stand erect in a moment."

"He was never better in health," said Bennett. "In fact, he is strongerthan I have known him for years. But there are the facts, Mr. Holmes.It is not a case in which we can consult the police, and yet we areutterly at our wit's end as to what to do, and we feel in some strangeway that we are drifting towards disaster. Edith--Miss Presbury--feels as I do, that we cannot wait passively any longer."

"It is certainly a very curious and suggestive case. What do you think,Watson?"

"Speaking as a medical man," said I, "it appears to be a case for analienist. The old gentleman's cerebral processes were disturbed by thelove affair. He made a journey abroad in the hope of breaking himselfof the passion. His letters and the box may be connected with someother private transaction--a loan, perhaps, or share cenificates,which are in the box."

"And the wolfhound no doubt disapproved of the financial bargain. No,no, Watson, there is more in it than this. Now, I can only suggest--"

What Sherlock Holmes was about to suggest will never be known, for atthis moment the door opened and a young lady was shown into the room.As she appeared Mr. Bennett sprang up with a cry and ran forward withhis hands out to meet those which she had herself outstretched.

"Edith, dear! Nothing the matter, I hope?"

"I felt I must follow you. Oh, Jack, I have been so dreadfullyfrightened! It is awful to be there alone."

"Mr. Holmes, this is the young lady I spoke of. This is my fiancee."

"We were gradually coming to that conclusion, were we not, Watson?"Holmes answered with a smile. "I take it, Miss Presbury, that there issome fresh development in the case, and that you thought we shouldknow?"

Our new visitor, a bright, handsome girl of a conventional Englishtype, smiled back at Holmes as she seated herself beside Mr. Bennett.

"When I found Mr. Bennett had left his hotel I thought I shouldprobably find him here. Of course, he had told me that he would consultyou. But, oh, Mr. Holmes, can you do nothing for my poor father?"

"I have hopes, Miss Presbury, but the case is still obscure. Perhapswhat you have to say may throw some fresh light upon it."

"It was last night, Mr. Holmes. He had been very strange all day. I amsure that there are times when he has no recollection of what he does.He lives as in a strange dream. Yesterday was such a day. It was not myfather with whom I lived. His outward shell was there, but it was notreally he."

"Tell me what happened."

"I was awakened in the night by the dog barking most furiously. PoorRoy, he is chained now near the stable. I may say that I always sleepwith my door locked; for, as Jack--as Mr. Bennett--will tell you,we all have a feeling of impending danger. My room is on the secondfloor. It happened that the blind was up in my window, and there wasbright moonlight outside. As I lay with my eyes fixed upon the squareof light, listening to the frenzied barkings of the dog, I was amazedto see my father's face looking in at me. Mr. Holmes, I nearly died ofsurprise and horror. There it was pressed against the windowpane, andone hand seemed to be raised as if to push up the window. If thatwindow had opened, I think I should have gone mad. It was no delusion,Mr. Holmes. Don't deceive yourself by thinking so. I dare say it wastwenty seconds or so that I lay paralyzed and watched the face. Then itvanished, but I could not--I could not spring out of bed and look outafter it. I lay cold and shivering till morning. At breakfast he wassharp and fierce in manner, and made no allusion to the adventure ofthe night. Neither did I, but I gave an excuse for coming to town--and here I am."

Holmes looked thoroughly surprised at Miss Presbury's narrative.

"My dear young lady, you say that your room is on the second floor. Isthere a long ladder in the garden?"

"No, Mr. Holmes, that is the amazing part of it. There is no possibleway of reaching the window--and yet he was there."

"The date being September 5th," said Holmes. "That certainlycomplicates matters."

It was the young lady's turn to look surprised. "This is the secondtime that you have alluded to the date, Mr. Holmes," said Bennett. "Isit possible that it has any bearing upon the case?"

"It is possible--very possible--and yet I have not my full materialat present."

"Possibly you are thinking of the connection between insanity andphases of the moon?"

"No, I assure you. It was quite a different line of thought. Possiblyyou can leave your notebook with me, and I will check the dates. Now Ithink, Watson, that our line of action is perfectly clear. This younglady has informed us--and I have the greatest confidence in herintuition--that her father remembers little or nothing which occursupon certain dates. We will therefore call upon him as if he had givenus an appointment upon such a date. He will put it down to his own lackof memory. Thus we will open our campaign by having a good close viewof him."

"That is excellent," said Mr. Bennett. "I warn you, however, that theprofessor is irascible and violent at times."

Holmes smiled. "There are reasons why we should come at once--verycogent reasons if my theories hold good. To-morrow, Mr. Bennett, willcertainly see us in Camford. There is, if I remember right, an inncalled the Chequers where the port used to be above mediocrity and thelinen was above reproach. I think, Watson, that our lot for the nextfew days might lie in less pleasant places."

Monday morning found us on our way to the famous university town--aneasy effort on the part of Holmes, who had no roots to pull up, but onewhich involved frantic planning and hurrying on my part, as my practicewas by this time not inconsiderable. Holmes made no allusion to thecase until after we had deposited our suitcases at the ancient hostelof which he had spoken.

"I think, Watson, that we can catch the professor just before lunch. Helectures at eleven and should have an interval at home."

"What possible excuse have we for calling?"

Holmes glanced at his notebook.

"There was a period of excitement upon August 26th. We will assume thathe is a little hazy as to what he does at such times. If we insist thatwe are there by appointment I think he will hardly venture tocontradict us. Have you the effrontery necessary to put it through?"

"We can but try."

"Excellent, Watson! Compound of the Busy Bee and Excelsior. We can buttry--the motto of the firm. A friendly native will surely guide us."

Such a one on the back of a smart hansom swept us past a row of ancientcolleges and, finally turning into a tree-lined drive, pulled up at thedoor of a charming house, girt round with lawns and covered with purplewistaria. Professor Presbury was certainly surrounded with every signnot only of comfort but of luxury. Even as we pulled up, a grizzledhead appeared at the front window, and we were aware of a pair of keeneyes from under shaggy brows which surveyed us through large hornglasses. A moment later we were actually in his sanctum, and themysterious scientist, whose vagaries had brought us from London, wasstanding before us. There was certainly no sign of eccentricity eitherin his manner or appearance, for he was a portly, largefeatured man,grave, tall, and frock-coated, with the dignity of bearing which alecturer needs. His eyes were his most remarkable feature, keen,observant, and clever to the verge of cunning.

He looked at our cards. "Pray sit down, gentlemen. What can I do foryou?"

Mr. Holmes smiled amiably.

"It was the question which I was about to put to you, Professor."

"To me, sir!"

"Possibly there is some mistake. I heard through a second person thatProfessor Presbury of Camford had need of my services."

"Oh, indeed!" It seemed to me that there was a malicious sparkle in theintense gray eyes. "You heard that, did you? May I ask the name of yourinformant?"

"I am sorry, Professor, but the matter was rather confidential. If Ihave made a mistake there is no harm done. I can only express myregret."

"Not at all. I should wish to go further into this matter. It interestsme. Have you any scrap of writing, any letter or telegram, to bear outyour assertion?"

"No, I have not."

"I presume that you do not go so far as to assert that I summoned you?"

"I would rather answer no questions," said Holmes.

"No, I dare say not," said the professor with asperity. "However, thatparticular one can be answered very easily without your aid."

He walked across the room to the bell. Our London friend Mr. Bennett,answered the call.

"Come in, Mr. Bennett. These two gentlemen have come from London underthe impression that they have been summoned. You handle all mycorrespondence. Have you a note of anything going to a person namedHolmes?"

"No, sir," Bennett answered with a flush.

"That is conclusive," said the professor, glaring angrily at mycompanion. "Now, sir"--he leaned forward with his two hands upon thetable--" it seems to me that your position is a very questionableone."

Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

"I can only repeat that I am sorry that we have made a needlessintrusion."

"Hardly enough, Mr. Holmes!" the old man cried in a high screamingvoice, with extraordinary malignancy upon his face. He got between usand the door as he spoke, and he shook his two hands at us with furiouspassion. "You can hardly get out of it so easily as that." His face wasconvulsed, and he grinned and gibbered at us in his senseless rage. Iam convinced that we should have had to fight our way out of the roomif Mr. Bennett had not intervened.

"My dear Professor," he cried, "consider your position! Consider thescandal at the university! Mr. Holmes is a wellknown man. You cannotpossibly treat him with such discourtesy."

Sulkily our host--if I may call him so--cleared the path to thedoor. We were glad to find ourselves outside the house and in the quietof the tree-lined drive. Holmes seemed greatly amused by the episode.

"Our learned friend's nerves are somewhat out of order," said he."Perhaps our intrusion was a little crude, and yet we have gained thatpersonal contact which I desired. But, dear me, Watson, he is surely atour heels. The villain still pursues us."

There were the sounds of running feet behind, but it was, to my relief,not the formidable professor but his assistant who appeared round thecurve of the drive. He came panting up to us.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Holmes. I wished to apologize."

"My dear sir, there is no need. It is all in the way of professionalexperience."

"I have never seen him in a more dangerous mood. But he grows moresinister. You can understand now why his daughter and I are alarmed.And yet his mind is perfectly clear."

"Too clear!" said Holmes. "That was my miscalculation. It is evidentthat his memory is much more reliable than I had thought. By the way,can we, before we go, see the window of Miss Presbury's room?"

Mr. Bennett pushed his way through some shrubs, and we had a view ofthe side of the house.

"It is there. The second on the left."

"Dear me, it seems hardly accessible. And yet you will observe thatthere is a creeper below and a water-pipe above which give somefoothold."

"I could not climb it myself," said Mr. Bennett.

"Very likely. It would certainly be a dangerous exploit for any normalman."

"There was one other thing I wish to tell you, Mr. Holmes. I have theaddress of the man in London to whom the professor writes. He seems tohave written this morning, and I got it from his blotting-paper. It isan ignoble position for a trusted secretary, but what else can I do?"

Holmes glanced at the paper and put it into his pocket.

"Dorak--a curious name. Slavonic, I imagine. Well, it is an importantlink in the chain. We return to London this afternoon, Mr. Bennett. Isee no good purpose to be served by our remaining. We cannot arrest theprofessor because he has done no crime, nor can we place him underconstraint, for he cannot be proved to be mad. No action is as yetpossible."

"Then what on earth are we to do?"

"A little patience, Mr. Bennett. Things will soon develop. Unless I ammistaken, next Tuesday may mark a crisis. Certainly we shall be inCamford on that day. Meanwhile, the general position is undeniablyunpleasant, and if Miss Presbury can prolong her visit"

"That is easy."

"Then let her stay till we can assure her that all danger is past.Meanwhile, let him have his way and do not cross him. So long as he isin a good humour all is well."

"There he is!" said Bennett in a startled whisper. Looking between thebranches we saw the tall, erect figure emerge from the hall door andlook around him. He stood leaning forward, his hands swinging straightbefore him, his head turning from side to side. The secretary with alast wave slipped off among the trees, and we saw him presently rejoinhis employer, the two entering the house together in what seemed to beanimated and even excited conversation.

"I expect the old gentleman has been putting two and two together,"said Holmes as we walked hotelward. "He struck me as having aparticularly clear and logical brain from the little I saw of him.Explosive, no doubt, but then from his point of view he has somethingto explode about if detectives are put on his track and he suspects hisown household of doing it. I rather fancy that friend Bennett is in foran uncomfortable time."

Holmes stopped at a post-office and sent off a telegram on our way. Theanswer reached us in the evening, and he tossed it across to me.

Have visited the Commercial Road and seen Dorak. Suave person, Bohemian,elderly. Keeps large general store. MERCER.

"Mercer is since your time," said Holmes. "He is my general utility manwho looks up routine business. It was important to know something ofthe man with whom our professor was so secretly corresponding. Hisnationality connects up with the Prague visit."

"Thank goodness that something connects with something," said I. "Atpresent we seem to be faced by a long series of inexplicable incidentswith no bearing upon each other. For example, what possible connectioncan there be between an angry wolfhound and a visit to Bohemia, oreither of them with a man crawling down a passage at night? As to yourdates, that is the biggest mystification of all."

Holmes smiled and rubbed his hands. We were, I may say, seated in theold sitting-room of the ancient hotel, with a bottle of the famousvintage of which Holmes had spoken on the table between us.

"Well, now, let us take the dates first," said he, his fingertipstogether and his manner as if he were addressing a class. "Thisexcellent young man's diary shows that there was trouble upon July 2d,and from then onward it seems to have been at nine-day intervals, with,so far as I remember, only one exception. Thus the last outbreak uponFriday was on September 3d, which also falls into the series, as didAugust 26th, which preceded it. The thing is beyond coincidence."

I was forced to agree.

"Let us, then, form the provisional theory that every nine days theprofessor takes some strong drug which has a passing but highlypoisonous effect. His naturally violent nature is intensified by it. Helearned to take this drug while he was in Prague, and is now suppliedwith it by a Bohemian intermediary in London. This all hangs together,Watson!"

"But the dog, the face at the window, the creeping man in the passage?"

"Well, well, we have made a beginning. I should not expect any freshdevelopments until next Tuesday. In the meantime we can only keep intouch with friend Bennett and enjoy the amenities of this charmingtown."

In the morning Mr. Bennett slipped round to bring us the latest report.As Holmes had imagined, times had not been easy with him. Withoutexactly accusing him of being responsible for our presence, theprofessor had been very rough and rude in his speech, and evidentlyfelt some strong grievance. This morning he was quite himself again,however, and had delivered his usual brilliant lecture to a crowdedclass. "Apart from his queer fits," said Bennett, "he has actually moreenergy and vitality than I can ever remember, nor was his brain everclearer. But it's not he--it's never the man whom we have known."

"I don't think you have anything to fear now for a week at least,"Holmes answered. "I am a busy man, and Dr. Watson has his patients toattend to. Let us agree that we meet here at this hour next Tuesday,and I shall be surprised if before we leave you again we are not ableto explain, even if we cannot perhaps put an end to, your troubles.Meanwhile, keep us posted in what occurs."

I saw nothing of my friend for the next few days, but on the followingMonday evening I had a short note asking me to meet him next day at thetrain. From what he told me as we travelled up to Camford all was well,the peace of the professor's house had been unruffled, and his ownconduct perfectly normal. This also was the report which was given usby Mr. Bennett himself when he called upon us that evening at our oldquarters in the Chequers. "He heard from his London correspondentto-day. There was a letter and there was a small packet, each with thecross under the stamp which warned me not to touch them. There has beennothing else."

"That may prove quite enough," said Holmes grimly. "Now, Mr. Bennett,we shall, I think, come to some conclusion tonight. If my deductionsare correct we should have an opportunity of bringing matters to ahead. In order to do so it is necessary to hold the professor underobservation. I would suggest, therefore, that you remain awake and onthe lookout. Should you hear him pass your door, do not interrupt him,but follow him as discreetly as you can. Dr. Watson and I will not befar off. By the way, where is the key of that little box of which youspoke?"

"Upon his watch-chain."

"I fancy our researches must lie in that direction. At the worst thelock should not be very formidable. Have you any other able-bodied manon the premises?"

"There is the coachman, Macphail."

"Where does he sleep?"

"Over the stables."

"We might possibly want him. Well, we can do no more until we see howthings develop, Good-bye--but I expect that we shall see you beforemorning."

It was nearly midnight before we took our station among some bushesimmediately opposite the hall door of the professor. It was a finenight, but chilly, and we were glad of our warm overcoats. There was abreeze, and clouds were scudding across the sky, obscuring from time totime the half-moon. It would have been a dismal vigil were it not forthe expectation and excitement which carried us along, and theassurance of my comrade that we had probably reached the end of thestrange sequence of events which had engaged our attention.

"If the cycle of nine days holds good then we shall have the professorat his worst to-night," said Holmes. "The fact that these strangesymptoms began after his visit to Prague, that he is in secretcorrespondence with a Bohemian dealer in London, who presumablyrepresents someone in Prague, and that he received a packet from himthis very day, all point in one direction. What he takes and why hetakes it are still beyond our ken, but that it emanates in some wayfrom Prague is clear enough. He takes it under definite directionswhich regulate this ninth-day system, which was the first point whichattracted my attention. But his symptoms are most remarkable. Did youobserve his knuckles?"

I had to confess that I did not.

"Thick and horny in a way which is quite new in my experience. Alwayslook at the hands first, Watson. Then cuffs, trouserknees, and boots.Very curious knuckles which can only be explained by the mode ofprogression observed by--" Holmes paused and suddenly clapped his handto his forehead. "Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have been! It seemsincredible, and yet it must be true. All points in one direction. Howcould I miss seeing the connection of ideas? Those knuckles how could Ihave passed those knuckles? And the dog! And the ivy! It's surely timethat I disappeared into that little farm of my dreams. Look out,Watson! Here he is! We shall have the chance of seeing for ourselves."

The hall door had slowly opened, and against the lamplit background wesaw the tall figure of Professor Presbury. He was clad in his dressinggown. As he stood outlined in the doorway he was erect but leaningforward with dangling arms, as when we saw him last.

Now he stepped forward into the drive, and an extraordinary change cameover him. He sank down into a crouching position and moved along uponhis hands and feet, skipping every now and then as if he wereoverflowing with energy and vitality. He moved along the face of thehouse and then round the corner. As he disappeared Bennett slippedthrough the hall door and softly followed him.

"Come, Watson, come!" cried Holmes, and we stole as softly as we couldthrough the bushes until we had gained a spot whence we could see theother side of the house, which was bathed in the light of thehalf-moon. The professor was clearly visible crouching at the foot ofthe ivy-covered wall. As we watched him he suddenly began withincredible agility to ascend it. From branch to branch he sprang, sureof foot and firm of grasp, climbing apparently in mere joy at his ownpowers, with no definite object in view. With his dressing-gownflapping on each side of him, he looked like some huge bat gluedagainst the side of his own house, a great square dark patch upon themoonlit wall. Presently he tired of this amusement, and, dropping frombranch to branch, he squatted down into the old attitude and movedtowards the stables, creeping along in the same strange way as before.The wolfhound was out now, barking furiously, and more excited thanever when it actually caught sight of its master. It was straining onits chain and quivering with eagerness and rage. The professor squatteddown very deliberately just out of reach of the hound and began toprovoke it in every possible way. He took handfuls of pebbles from thedrive and threw them in the dog's face, prodded him with a stick whichhe had picked up, flicked his hands about only a few inches from thegaping mouth, and endeavoured in every way to increase the animal'sfury, which was already beyond all control. In all our adventures I donot know that I have ever seen a more strange sight than this impassiveand still dignified figure crouching frog-like upon the ground andgoading to a wilder exhibition of passion the maddened hound, whichramped and raged in front of him, by all manner of ingenious andcalculated cruelty.

And then in a moment it happened! It was not the chain that broke, butit was the collar that slipped, for it had been made for a thick-neckedNewfoundland. We heard the rattle of falling metal, and the nextinstant dog and man were rolling on the ground together, the oneroaring in rage, the other screaming in a strange shrill falsetto ofterror. It was a very narrow thing for the professor's life. The savagecreature had him fairly by the throat, its fangs had bitten deep, andhe was senseless before we could reach them and drag the two apart. Itmight have been a dangerous task for us, but Bennett's voice andpresence brought the great wolflhound instantly to reason. The uproarhad brought the sleepy and astonished coachman from his room above thestables. "I'm not surprised," said he, shaking his head. "I've seen himat it before. I knew the dog would get him sooner or later."

The hound was secured, and together we carried the professor up to hisroom, where Bennett, who had a medical degree, helped me to dress historn throat. The sharp teeth had passed dangerously near the carotidartery, and the haemorrhage was serious. In half an hour the danger waspast, I had given the patient an injection of morphia, and he had sunkinto deep sleep. Then, and only then, were we able to look at eachother and to take stock of the situation.

"I think a first-class surgeon should see him," said I.

"For God's sake, no!" cried Bennett. "At present the scandal isconfined to our own household. It is safe with us. If it gets beyondthese walls it will never stop. Consider his position at theuniversity, his European reputation, the feelings of his daughter."

"Quite so," said Holmes. "I think it may be quite possible to keep thematter to ourselves, and also to prevent its recurrence now that wehave a free hand. The key from the watch-chain, Mr. Bennett. Macphailwill guard the patient and let us know if there is any change. Let ussee what we can find in the professor's mysterious box."

There was not much, but there was enough--an empty phial, anothernearly full, a hypodermic syringe, several letters in a crabbed,foreign hand. The marks on the envelopes showed that they were thosewhich had disturbed the routine of the secretary, and each was datedfrom the Commercial Road and signed "A. Dorak." They were mere invoicesto say that a fresh bottle was being sent to Professor Presbury, orreceipt to acknowledge money. There was one other envelope, however, ina more educated hand and bearing the Austrian stamp with the postmarkof Prague. "Here we have our material!" cried Holmes as he tore out theenclosure.

HONOURED COLLEAGUE [it ran]:

Since your esteemed visit I have thought much of your case, and though inyour circumstances there are some special reasons for the treatment,I would none the less enjoin caution, as my results have shown that it isnot without danger of a kind. It is possible that the serum of anthropoidwould have been better. I have, as I explained to you, used black-facedlangur because a specimen was accessible. Langur is, of course, a crawlerand climber, while anthropoid walks erect and is in all ways nearer. I begyou to take every possible precaution that there be no prematurerevelation of the process. I have one other client in England, and Dorakis my agent for both. Weekly reports will oblige.

Yours with high esteem,H. LOWENSTEIN.

Lowenstein! The name brought back to me the memory of some snippet froma newspaper which spoke of an obscure scientist who was striving insome unknown way for the secret of rejuvenescence and the elixir oflife. Lowenstein of Prague! Lowenstein with the wondrousstrength-giving serum, tabooed by the profession because he refused toreveal its source. In a few words I said what I remembered. Bennett hadtaken a manual of zoology from the shelves."'Langur,'" he read "'thegreat black-faced monkey of the Himalayan slopes, biggest and mosthuman of climbing monkeys.' Many details are added. Well, thanks to you,Mr. Holmes, it is very clear that we have traced the evil to itssource."

"The real source," said Holmes, "lies, of course, in that untimely loveaffair which gave our impetuous professor the idea that he could onlygain his wish by turning himself into a younger man. When one tries torise above Nature one is liable to fall below it. The highest type ofman may revert to the animal if he leaves the straight road ofdestiny." He sat musing for a little with the phial in his hand,looking at the clear liquid within. "When I have written to this manand told him that I hold him criminally responsible for the poisonswhich he circulates, we will have no more trouble. But it may recur.Others may find a better way. There is danger there--a very realdanger to humanity. Consider, Watson, that the material, the sensual,the worldly would all prolong their worthless lives. The spiritualwould not avoid the call to something higher. It would be the survivalof the least fit. What sort of cesspool may not our poor world become?"Suddenly the dreamer disappeared, and Holmes, the man of action, sprangfrom his chair. "I think there is nothing more to be said, Mr. Bennett.The various incidents will now fit themselves easily into the generalscheme. The dog, of course, was aware of the change far more quicklythan you. His smell would insure that. It was the monkey, not theprofessor, whom Roy attacked, just as it was the monkey who teased Roy.Climbing was a joy to the creature, and it was a mere chance, I takeit, that the pastime brought him to the young lady's window. There isan early train to town, Watson, but I think we shall just have time fora cup of tea at the Chequers before we catch it."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE LION'S MANE

It is a most singular thing that a problem which was certainly asabstruse and unusual as any which I have faced in my long professionalcareer should have come to me after my retirement, and be brought, asit were, to my very door. It occurred after my withdrawal to my littleSussex home, when I had given myself up entirely to that soothing lifeof Nature for which I had so often yearned during the long years spentamid the gloom of London. At this period of my life the good Watson hadpassed almost beyond my ken. An occasional week-end visit was the mostthat I ever saw of him. Thus I must act as my own chronicler. Ah! hadhe but been with me, how much he might have made of so wonderful ahappening and of my eventual triumph against every difficulty! As itis, however, I must needs tell my tale in my own plain way, showing bymy words each step upon the difficult road which lay before me as Isearched for the mystery of the Lion's Mane.

My villa is situated upon the southern slope of the downs, commanding agreat view of the Channel. At this point the coast-line is entirely ofchalk cliffs, which can only be descended by a single, long, tortuouspath, which is steep and slippery. At the bottom of the path lie ahundred yards of pebbles and shingle, even when the tide is at full.Here and there, however, there are curves and hollows which makesplendid swimmingpools filled afresh with each flow. This admirablebeach extends for some miles in each direction, save only at one pointwhere the little cove and village of Fulworth break the line.

My house is lonely. I, my old housekeeper, and my bees have the estateall to ourselves. Half a mile off, however, is Harold Stackhurst'swell-known coaching establishment, The Gables, quite a large place,which contains some score of young fellows preparing for variousprofessions, with a staff of several masters. Stackhurst himself was awell-known rowing Blue in his day, and an excellent all-round scholar.He and I were always friendly from the day I came to the coast, and hewas the one man who was on such terms with me that we could drop in oneach other in the evenings without an invitation.

Towards the end of July, 1907, there was a severe gale, the windblowing up-channel, heaping the seas to the base of the cliffs andleaving a lagoon at the turn of the tide. On the morning of which Ispeak the wind had abated, and all Nature was newly washed and fresh.It was impossible to work upon so delightful a day, and I strolled outbefore breakfast to enjoy the exquisite air. I walked along the cliffpath which led to the steep descent to the beach. As I walked I heard ashout behind me, and there was Harold Stackhurst waving his hand incheery greeting.

"What a morning, Mr. Holmes! I thought I should see you out."

"Going for a swim, I see."

"At your old tricks again," he laughed, patting his bulging pocket."Yes. McPherson started early, and I expect I may find him there."

Fitzroy McPherson was the science master, a fine upstanding youngfellow whose life had been crippled by heart trouble followingrheumatic fever. He was a natural athlete, however, and excelled inevery game which did not throw too great a strain upon him. Summer andwinter he went for his swim, and, as I am a swimmer myself, I haveoften joined him.

At this moment we saw the man himself. His head showed above the edgeof the cliff where the path ends. Then his whole figure appeared at thetop, staggering like a drunken man. The next instant he threw up hishands and, with a terrible cry, fell upon his face. Stackhurst and Irushed forward--it may have been fifty yards--and turned him on hisback. He was obviously dying. Those glazed sunken eyes and dreadfullivid cheeks could mean nothing else. One glimmer of life came into hisface for an instant, and he uttered two or three words with an eagerair of warning. They were slurred and indistinct, but to my ear thelast of them, which burst in a shriek from his lips, were "the Lion'sMane." It was utterly irrelevant and unintelligible, and yet I couldtwist the sound into no other sense. Then he half raised himself fromthe ground, threw his arms into the air, and fell forward on his side.He was dead.

My companion was paralyzed by the sudden horror of it, but I, as maywell be imagined, had every sense on the alert. And I had need, for itwas speedily evident that we were in the presence of an extraordinarycase. The man was dressed only in his Burberry overcoat, his trousers,and an unlaced pair of canvas shoes. As he fell over, his Burberry,which had been simply thrown round his shoulders, slipped off, exposinghis trunk. We stared at it in amazement. His back was covered with darkred lines as though he had been terribly flogged by a thin wirescourge. The instrument with which this punishment had been inflictedwas clearly flexible, for the long, angry weals curved round hisshoulders and ribs. There was blood dripping down his chin, for he hadbitten through his lower lip in the paroxysm of his agony. His drawnand distorted face told how terrible that agony had been.

I was kneeling and Stackhurst standing by the body when a shadow fellacross us, and we found that Ian Murdoch was by our side. Murdoch wasthe mathematical coach at the establishment, a tall, dark, thin man, sotaciturn and aloof that none can be said to have been his friend. Heseemed to live in some high abstract region of surds and conicsections, with little to connect him with ordinary life. He was lookedupon as an oddity by the students, and would have been their butt, butthere was some strange outlandish blood in the man, which showed itselfnot only in his coal-black eyes and swarthy face but also in occasionaloutbreaks of temper, which could only be described as ferocious. On oneoccasion, being plagued by a little dog belonging to McPherson, he hadcaught the creature up and hurled it through the plate-glass window, anaction for which Stackhurst would certainly have given him hisdismissal had he not been a very valuable teacher. Such was the strangecomplex man who now appeared beside us. He seemed to be honestlyshocked at the sight before him, though the incident of the dog mayshow that there was no great sympathy between the dead man and himself.

"Poor fellow! Poor fellow! What can I do? How can I help?"

"Were you with him? Can you tell us what has happened?"

"No, no, I was late this morning. I was not on the beach at all. I havecome straight from The Gables. What can I do?"

"You can hurry to the police-station at Fulworth. Report the matter atonce."

Without a word he made off at top speed, and I proceeded to take thematter in hand, while Stackhurst, dazed at this tragedy, remained bythe body. My first task naturally was to note who was on the beach.From the top of the path I could see the whole sweep of it, and it wasabsolutely deserted save that two or three dark figures could be seenfar away moving towards the village of Fulworth. Having satisfiedmyself upon this point, I walked slowly down the path. There was clayor soft marl mixed with the chalk, and every here and there I saw thesame footstep, both ascending and descending. No one else had gone downto the beach by this track that morning. At one place I observed theprint of an open hand with the fingers towards the incline. This couldonly mean that poor McPherson had fallen as he ascended. There wererounded depressions, too, which suggested that he had come down uponhis knees more than once. At the bottom of the path was theconsiderable lagoon left by the retreating tide. At the side of itMcPherson had undressed, for there lay his towel on a rock. It wasfolded and dry, so that it would seem that, after all, he had neverentered the water. Once or twice as I hunted round amid the hardshingle I came on little patches of sand where the print of his canvasshoe, and also of his naked foot, could be seen. The latter fact provedthat he had made all ready to bathe, though the towel indicated that hehad not actually done so.

And here was the problem clearly defined--as strange a one as hadever confronted me. The man had not been on the beach more than aquarter of an hour at the most. Stackhurst had followed him from TheGables, so there could be no doubt about that. He had gone to bathe andhad stripped, as the naked footsteps showed. Then he had suddenlyhuddled on his clothes again--they were all dishevelled andunfastened--and he had returned without bathing, or at any ratewithout drying himself. And the reason for his change of purpose hadbeen that he had been scourged in some savage, inhuman fashion,tortured until he bit his lip through in his agony, and was left withonly strength enough to crawl away and to die. Who had done thisbarbarous deed? There were, it is true, small grottos and caves in thebase of the cliffs, but the low sun shone directly into them, and therewas no place for concealment. Then, again, there were those distantfigures on the beach. They seemed too far away to have been connectedwith the crime, and the broad lagoon in which McPherson had intended tobathe lay between him and them, lapping up to the rocks. On the sea twoor three fishingboats were at no great distance. Their occupants mightbe examined at our leisure. There were several roads for inquiry, butnone which led to any very obvious goal.

When I at last returned to the body I found that a little group ofwondering folk had gathered round it. Stackhurst was, of course, stillthere, and Ian Murdoch had just arrived with Anderson, the villageconstable, a big, ginger-moustached man of the slow, solid Sussex breed--a breed which covers much good sense under a heavy, silent exterior.He listened to everything, took note of all we said, and finally drewme aside.

"I'd be glad of your advice, Mr. Holmes. This is a big thing for me tohandle, and I'll hear of it from Lewes if I go wrong."

I advised him to send for his immediate superior, and for a doctor;also to allow nothing to be moved, and as few fresh footmarks aspossible to be made, until they came. In the meantime I searched thedead man's pockets. There were his handkerchief, a large knife, and asmall folding card-case. From this projected a slip of paper, which Iunfolded and handed to the constable. There was written on it in ascrawling, feminine hand:

I will be there, you may be sure.

MAUDIE.

It read like a love affair, an assignation, though when and where werea blank. The constable replaced it in the card-case and returned itwith the other things to the pockets of the Burberry. Then, as nothingmore suggested itself, I walked back to my house for breakfast, havingfirst arranged that the base of the cliffs should be thoroughlysearched.

Stackhurst was round in an hour or two to tell me that the body hadbeen removed to The Gables, where the inquest would be held. He broughtwith him some serious and definite news. As I expected, nothing hadbeen found in the small caves below the cliff, but he had examined thepapers in McPherson's desk and there were several which showed anintimate correspondence with a certain Miss Maud Bellamy, of Fulworth.We had then established the identity of the writer of the note.

"The police have the letters," he explained. "I could not bring them.But there is no doubt that it was a serious love affair. I see noreason, however, to connect it with that horrible happening save,indeed, that the lady had made an appointment with him."

"But hardly at a bathing-pool which all of you were in the habit ofusing," I remarked.

"It is mere chance," said he, "that several of the students were notwith McPherson."

"Was it mere chance?"

Stackhurst knit his brows in thought.

"Ian Murdoch held them back," said he. "He would insist upon somealgebraic demonstration before breakfast. Poor chap, he is dreadfullycut up about it all."

"And yet I gather that they were not friends."

"At one time they were not. But for a year or more Murdoch has been asnear to McPherson as he ever could be to anyone. He is not of a verysympathetic disposition by nature."

"So I understand. I seem to remember your telling me once about aquarrel over the ill-usage of a dog."

"That blew over all right."

"But left some vindictive feeling, perhaps."

"No, no, I am sure they were real friends."

"Well, then, we must explore the matter of the girl. Do you know her?"

"Everyone knows her. She is the beauty of the neighbourhood--a realbeauty, Holmes, who would draw attention everywhere. I knew thatMcPherson was attracted by her, but I had no notion that it had gone sofar as these letters would seem to indicate."

"But who is she?"

"She is the daughter of old Tom Bellamy who owns all the boats andbathing-cots at Fulworth. He was a fisherman to start with, but is nowa man of some substance. He and his son William run the business."

"Shall we walk into Fulworth and see them?"

"On what pretext?"

"Oh, we can easily find a pretext. After all, this poor man did notill-use himself in this outrageous way. Some human hand was on thehandle of that scourge, if indeed it was a scourge which inflicted theinjuries. His circle of acquaintances in this lonely place was surelylimited. Let us follow it up in every direction and we can hardly failto come upon the motive, which in turn should lead us to the criminal."

It would have been a pleasant walk across the thyme-scented downs hadour minds not been poisoned by the tragedy we had witnessed. Thevillage of Fulworth lies in a hollow curving in a semicircle round thebay. Behind the old-fashioned hamlet several modern houses have beenbuilt upon the rising ground. It was to one of these that Stackhurstguided me.

"That's The Haven, as Bellamy called it. The one with the corner towerand slate roof. Not bad for a man who started with nothing but--ByJove, look at that!"

The garden gate of The Haven had opened and a man had emerged. Therewas no mistaking that tall, angular, straggling figure. It was IanMurdoch, the mathematician. A moment later we confronted him upon theroad.

"Hullo!" said Stackhurst. The man nodded, gave us a sideways glancefrom his curious dark eyes, and would have-passed us, but his principalpulled him up.

"What were you doing there?" he asked.

Murdoch's face flushed with anger. "I am your subordinate, sir, underyour roof. I am not aware that I owe you any account of my privateactions."

Stackhurst's nerves were near the surface after all he had endured.Otherwise, perhaps, he would have waited. Now he lost his tempercompletely.

"In the circumstances your answer is pure impertinence, Mr. Murdoch."

"Your own question might perhaps come under the same heading."

"This is not the first time that I have had to overlook yourinsubordinate ways. It will certainly be the last. You will kindly makefresh arrangements for your future as speedily as you can."

"I had intended to do so. I have lost to-day the only person who madeThe Gables habitable."

He strode off upon his way, while Stackhurst, with angry eyes, stoodglaring after him. "Is he not an impossible, intolerable man?" hecried.

The one thing that impressed itself forcibly upon my mind was that Mr.Ian Murdoch was taking the first chance to open a path of escape fromthe scene of the crime. Suspicion, vague and nebulous, was nowbeginning to take outline in my mind. Perhaps the visit to the Bellamysmight throw some further light upon the matter. Stackhurst pulledhimself together, and we went forward to the house.

Mr. Bellamy proved to be a middle-aged man with a flaming red beard. Heseemed to be in a very angry mood, and his face was soon as florid ashis hair.

"No, sir, I do not desire any particulars. My son here"--indicating apowerful young man, with a heavy, sullen face, in the corner of thesitting-room--"is of one mind with me that Mr. McPherson's attentionsto Maud were insulting. Yes, sir, the word 'marriage' was nevermentioned, and yet there were letters and meetings, and a great dealmore of which neither of us could approve. She has no mother, and weare her only guardians. We are determined--"

But the words were taken from his mouth by the appearance of the ladyherself. There was no gainsaying that she would have graced anyassembly in the world. Who could have imagined that so rare a flowerwould grow from such a root and in such an atmosphere? Women haveseldom been an attraction to me, for my brain has always governed myheart, but I could not look upon her perfect clear-cut face, with allthe soft freshness of the downlands in her delicate colouring, withoutrealizing that no young man would cross her path unscathed. Such wasthe girl who had pushed open the door and stood now, wide-eyed andintense, in front of Harold Stackhurst.

"I know already that Fitzroy is dead," she said. "Do not be afraid totell me the particulars."

"This other gentleman of yours let us know the news," explained thefather.

"There is no reason why my sister should be brought into the matter,"growled the younger man.

The sister turned a sharp, fierce look upon him. "This is my business,William. Kindly leave me to manage it in my own way. By all accountsthere has been a crime committed. If I can help to show who did it, itis the least I can do for him who is gone."

She listened to a short account from my companion, with a composedconcentration which showed me that she possessed strong character aswell as great beauty. Maud Bellamy will always remain in my memory as amost complete and remarkable woman. It seems that she already knew meby sight, for she turned to me at the end.

"Bring them to justice, Mr. Holmes. You have my sympathy and my help,whoever they may be." It seemed to me that she glanced defiantly at herfather and brother as she spoke.

"Thank you," said I. "I value a woman's instinct in such matters. Youuse the word 'they.' You think that more than one was concerned?"

"I knew Mr. McPherson well enough to be aware that he was a brave and astrong man. No single person could ever have inflicted such an outrageupon him."

"Might I have one word with you alone?"

"I tell you, Maud, not to mix yourself up in the matter," cried herfather angrily.

She looked at me helplessly. "What can I do?"

"The whole world will know the facts presently, so there can be no harmif I discuss them here," said I. "I should have preferred privacy, butif your father will not allow it he must share the deliberations." ThenI spoke of the note which had been found in the dead man's pocket. "Itis sure to be produced at the inquest. May I ask you to throw any lightupon it that you can?"

"I see no reason for mystery," she answered. "We were engaged to bemarried, and we only kept it secret because Fitzroy's uncle, who isvery old and said to be dying, might have disinherited him if he hadmarried against his wish. There was no other reason."

"You could have told us," growled Mr. Bellamy.

"So I would, father, if you had ever shown sympathy."

"I object to my girl picking up with men outside her own station."

"It was your prejudice against him which prevented us from telling you.As to this appointment"--she fumbled in her dress and produced acrumpled note--"it was in answer to this."

DEAREST [ran the message]:

The old place on the beach just after sunset on Tuesday.

It is the only time I can get away.

F.M.

"Tuesday was to-day, and I had meant to meet him to-night."

I turned over the paper. "This never came by post. How did you get it?"

"I would rather not answer that question. It has really nothing to dowith the matter which you are investigating. But anything which bearsupon that I will most freely answer."

She was as good as her word, but there was nothing which was helpful inour investigation. She had no reason to think that her fiance had anyhidden enemy, but she admitted that she had had several warm admirers.

"May I ask if Mr. Ian Murdoch was one of them?"

She blushed and seemed confused.

"There was a time when I thought he was. But that was all changed whenhe understood the relations between Fitzroy and myself."

Again the shadow round this strange man seemed to me to be taking moredefinite shape. His record must be examined. His rooms must beprivately searched. Stackhurst was a willing collaborator, for in hismind also suspicions were forming. We returned from our visit to TheHaven with the hope that one free end of this tangled skein was alreadyin our hands.

A week passed. The inquest had thrown no light upon the matter and hadbeen adjourned for further evidence. Stackhurst had made discreetinquiry about his subordinate, and there had been a superficial searchof his room, but without result. Personally, I had gone over the wholeground again, both physically and mentally, but with no newconclusions. In all my chronicles the reader will find no case whichbrought me so completely to the limit of my powers. Even my imaginationcould conceive no solution to the mystery. And then there came theincident of the dog.

It was my old housekeeper who heard of it first by that strangewireless by which such people collect the news of the countryside.

"Sad story this, sir, about Mr. McPherson's dog," said she one evening.

I do not encourage such conversations, but the words arrested myattention.

"What of Mr. McPherson's dog?"

"Dead, sir. Died of grief for its master."

"Who told you this?"

"Why, sir, everyone is talking of it. It took on terrible, and haseaten nothing for a week. Then to-day two of the young gentlemen fromThe Gables found it dead--down on the beach, sir, at the very placewhere its master met his end."

"At the very place." The words stood out clear in my memory. Some dimperception that the matter was vital rose in my mind. That the dogshould die was after the beautiful, faithful nature of dogs. But "inthe very place"! Why should this lonely beach be fatal to it? Was itpossible that it also had been sacrificed to some revengeful feud? Wasit possible--? Yes, the perception was dim, but already something wasbuilding up in my mind. In a few minutes I was on my way to The Gables,where I found Stackhurst in his study. At my request he sent forSudbury and Blount, the two students who had found the dog.

"Yes, it lay on the very edge of the pool," said one of them. "It musthave followed the trail of its dead master."

I saw the faithful little creature, an Airedale terrier, laid out uponthe mat in the hall. The body was stiff and rigid, the eyes projecting,and the limbs contorted. There was agony in every line of it.

From The Gables I walked down to the bathing-pool. The sun had sunk andthe shadow of the great cliff lay black across the water, whichglimmered dully like a sheet of lead. The place was deserted and therewas no sign of life save for two sea-birds circling and screamingoverhead. In the fading light I could dimly make out the little dog'sspoor upon the sand round the very rock on which his master's towel hadbeen laid. For a long time I stood in deep meditation while the shadowsgrew darker around me. My mind was filled with racing thoughts. Youhave known what it was to be in a nightmare in which you feel thatthere is some all-important thing for which you search and which youknow is there, though it remains forever just beyond your reach. Thatwas how I felt that evening as I stood alone by that place of death.Then at last I turned and walked slowly homeward.

I had just reached the top of the path when it came to me. Like aflash, I remembered the thing for which I had so eagerly and vainlygrasped. You will know, or Watson has written in vain, that I hold avast store of out-of-the-way knowledge without scientific system, butvery available for the needs of my work. My mind is like a crowdedbox-room with packets of all sorts stowed away therein--so many thatI may well have but a vague perception of what was there. I had knownthat there was something which might bear upon this matter. It wasstill vague, but at least I knew how I could make it clear. It wasmonstrous, incredible, and yet it was always a possibility. I wouldtest it to the full.

There is a great garret in my little house which is stuffed with books.It was into this that I plunged and rummaged for an hour. At the end ofthat time I emerged with a little chocolate and silver volume. EagerlyI turned up the chapter of which I had a dim remembrance. Yes, it wasindeed a far-fetched and unlikely proposition, and yet I could not beat rest until I had made sure if it might, indeed, be so. It was latewhen I retired, with my mind eagerly awaiting the work of the morrow.

But that work met with an annoying interruption. I had hardly swallowedmy early cup of tea and was starting for the beach when I had a callfrom Inspector Bardle of the Sussex Constabulary--a steady, solid,bovine man with thoughtful eyes, which looked at me now with a verytroubled expression.

"I know your immense experience, sir," said he. "This is quiteunofficial, of course, and need go no farther. But I am fairly upagainst it in this McPherson case. The question is, shall I make anarrest, or shall I not?"

"Meaning Mr. Ian Murdoch?"

"Yes, sir. There is really no one else when you come to think of it.That's the advantage of this solitude. We narrow it down to a verysmall compass. If he did not do it, then who did?"

"What have you against him?"

He had gleaned along the same furrows as I had. There was Murdoch'scharacter and the mystery which seemed to hang round the man. Hisfurious bursts of temper, as shown in the incident of the dog. The factthat he had quarrelled with McPherson in the past, and that there wassome reason to think that he might have resented his attentions to MissBellamy. He had all my points, but no fresh ones, save that Murdochseemed to be making every preparation for departure.

"What would my position be if I let him slip away with all thisevidence against him?" The burly, phlegmatic man was sorely troubled inhis mind.

"Consider," I said, "all the essential gaps in your case. On themorning of the crime he can surely prove an alibi. He had been with hisscholars till the last moment, and within a few minutes of McPherson'sappearance he came upon us from behind. Then bear in mind the absoluteimpossibility that he could single-handed have inflicted this outrageupon a man quite as strong as himself. Finally, there is this questionof the instrument with which these injuries were inflicted."

"What could it be but a scourge or flexible whip of some sort?"

"Have you examined the marks?" I asked.

"I have seen them. So has the doctor."

"But I have examined them very carefully with a lens. They havepeculiarities."

"What are they, Mr. Holmes?"

I stepped to my bureau and brought out an enlarged photograph. "This ismy method in such cases," I explained.

"You certainly do things thoroughly, Mr. Holmes."

"I should hardly be what I am if I did not. Now let us consider thisweal which extends round the right shoulder. Do you observe nothingremarkable?"

"I can't say I do."

"Surely it is evident that it is unequal in its intensity. There is adot of extravasated blood here, and another there. There are similarindications in this other weal down here. What can that mean?"

"I have no idea. Have you?"

"Perhaps I have. Perhaps I haven't. I may be able to say more soon.Anything which will define what made that mark will bring us a long waytowards the criminal."

"It is, of course, an absurd idea," said the policeman, "but if ared-hot net of wire had been laid across the back, then these bettermarked points would represent where the meshes crossed each other."

"A most ingenious comparison. Or shall we say a very stiffcat-o'-nine-tails with small hard knots upon it?"

"By Jove, Mr. Holmes, I think you have hit it."

"Or there may be some very different cause, Mr. Bardle. But your caseis far too weak for an arrest. Besides, we have those last words--the'Lion's Mane.'"

"I have wondered whether Ian--"

"Yes, I have considered that. If the second word had borne anyresemblance to Murdoch--but it did not. He gave it almost in ashriek. I am sure that it was 'Mane.'"

"Have you no alternative, Mr. Holmes?"

"Perhaps I have. But I do not care to discuss it until there issomething more solid to discuss."

"And when will that be?"

"In an hour--possibly less."

The inspector rubbed his chin and looked at me with dubious eyes.

"I wish I could see what was in your mind, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps it'sthose fishing-boats."

"No, no, they were too far out."

"Well, then, is it Bellamy and that big son of his? They were not toosweet upon Mr. McPherson. Could they have done him a mischief?"

"No, no, you won't draw me until I am ready," said I with a smile."Now, Inspector, we each have our own work to do. Perhaps if you wereto meet me here at midday--"

So far we had got when there came the tremendous interruption which wasthe beginning of the end.

My outer door was flung open, there were blundering footsteps in thepassage, and Ian Murdoch staggered into the room, pallid, dishevelled,his clothes in wild disorder, clawing with his bony hands at thefurniture to hold himself erect. "Brandy! Brandy!" he gasped, and fellgroaning upon the sofa.

He was not alone. Behind him came Stackhurst, hatless and panting,almost as distrait as his companion.

"Yes, yes, brandy!" he cried. "The man is at his last gasp. It was allI could do to bring him here. He fainted twice upon the way."

Half a tumbler of the raw spirit brought about a wondrous change. Hepushed himself up on one arm and swung his coat from his shoulders."For God's sake oil, opium, morphia!" he cried. "Anything to ease thisinfernal agony!"

The inspector and I cried out at the sight. There, crisscrossed uponthe man's naked shoulder, was the same strange reticulated pattern ofred, inflamed lines which had been the death-mark of Fitzroy McPherson.

The pain was evidently terrible and was more than local, for thesufferer's breathing would stop for a time, his face would turn black,and then with loud gasps he would clap his hand to his heart, while hisbrow dropped beads of sweat. At any moment he might die. More and morebrandy was poured down his throat, each fresh dose bringing him back tolife. Pads of cotton-wool soaked in salad-oil seemed to take the agonyfrom the strange wounds. At last his head fell heavily upon thecushion. Exhausted Nature had taken refuge in its last storehouse ofvitality. It was half a sleep and half a faint, but at least it wasease from pain.

To question him had been impossible, but the moment we were assured ofhis condition Stackhurst turned upon me.

"My God!" he cried, "what is it, Holmes? What is it?"

"Where did you find him?"

"Down on the beach. Exactly where poor McPherson met his end. If thisman's heart had been weak as McPherson's was, he would not be here now.More than once I thought he was gone as I brought him up. It was toofar to The Gables, so I made for you."

"Did you see him on the beach?"

"I was walking on the cliff when I heard his cry. He was at the edge ofthe water, reeling about like a drunken man. I ran down, threw someclothes about him, and brought him up. For heaven's sake, Holmes, useall the powers you have and spare no pains to lift the curse from thisplace, for life is becoming unendurable. Can you, with all yourworld-wide reputation, do nothing for us?"

"I think I can, Stackhurst. Come with me now! And you, Inspector, comealong! We will see if we cannot deliver this murderer into your hands."

Leaving the unconscious man in the charge of my housekeeper, we allthree went down to the deadly lagoon. On the shingle there was piled alittle heap of towels and clothes left by the stricken man. Slowly Iwalked round the edge of the water, my comrades in Indian file behindme. Most of the pool was quite shallow, but under the cliff where thebeach was hollowed out it was four or five feet deep. It was to thispart that a swimmer would naturally go, for it formed a beautifulpellucid green pool as clear as crystal. A line of rocks lay above itat the base of the cliff, and along this I led the way, peering eagerlyinto the depths beneath me. I had reached the deepest and stillest poolwhen my eyes caught that for which they were searching, and I burstinto a shout of triumph.

"Cyanea!" I cried. "Cyanea! Behold the Lion's Mane!"

The strange object at which I pointed did indeed look like a tangledmass torn from the mane of a lion. It lay upon a rocky shelf some threefeet under the water, a curious waving, vibrating, hairy creature withstreaks of silver among its yellow tresses. It pulsated with a slow,heavy dilation and contraction.

"It has done mischief enough. Its day is over!" I cried. "Help me,Stackhurst! Let us end the murderer forever."

There was a big boulder just above the ledge, and we pushed it until itfell with a tremendous splash into the water. When the ripples hadcleared we saw that it had settled upon the ledge below. One flappingedge of yellow membrane showed that our victim was beneath it. A thickoily scum oozed out from below the stone and stained the water round,rising slowly to the surface.

"Well, this gets me!" cried the inspector. "What was it, Mr. Holmes?I'm born and bred in these parts, but I never saw such a thing. Itdon't belong to Sussex."

"Just as well for Sussex," I remarked. "It may have been the southwestgale that brought it up. Come back to my house, both of you, and I willgive you the terrible experience of one who has good reason to rememberhis own meeting with the same peril of the seas."

When we reached my study we found that Murdoch was so far recoveredthat he could sit up. He was dazed in mind, and every now and then wasshaken by a paroxysm of pain. In broken words he explained that he hadno notion what had occurred to him, save that terrific pangs hadsuddenly shot through him, and that it had taken all his fortitude toreach the bank.

"Here is a book," I said, taking up the little volume, "which firstbrought light into what might have been forever dark. It is 'Out ofDoors', by the famous observer, J. G. Wood. Wood himself very nearlyperished from contact with this vile creature, so he wrote with a veryfull knowledge. Cyanea capillata is the miscreant's full name, and hecan be as dangerous to life as, and far more painful than, the bite ofthe cobra. Let me briefly give this extract.

"'If the bather should see a loose roundish mass of tawny membranes andfibres, something like very large handfuls of lion's mane and silverpaper, let him beware, for this is the fearful stinger, Cyanea capillata.'

"Could our sinister acquaintance be more clearly described?

"He goes on to tell of his own encounter with one when swimming off thecoast of Kent. He found that the creature radiated almost invisiblefilaments to the distance of fifty feet, and that anyone within thatcircumference from the deadly centre was in danger of death. Even at adistance the effect upon Wood was almost fatal.

"'The multitudinous threads caused light scarlet lines upon the skin whichon closer examination resolved into minute dots or pustules, each dotcharged as it were with a red-hot needle making its way through thenerves.'

"The local pain was, as he explains, the least part of the exquisitetorment.

"'Pangs shot through the chest, causing me to fall as if struck by abullet. The pulsation would cease, and then the heart would give six orseven leaps as if it would force its way through the chest.'

"It nearly killed him, although he had only been exposed to it in thedisturbed ocean and not in the narrow calm waters of a bathing-pool. Hesays that he could hardly recognize himself afterwards, so white,wrinkled and shrivelled was his face. He gulped down brandy, a wholebottleful, and it seems to have saved his life. There is the book,Inspector. I leave it with you, and you cannot doubt that it contains afull explanation of the tragedy of poor McPherson."

"And incidentally exonerates me," remarked Ian Murdoch with a wrysmile. "I do not blame you, Inspector, nor you, Mr. Holmes, for yoursuspicions were natural. I feel that on the very eve of my arrest Ihave only cleared myself by sharing the fate of my poor friend."

"No, Mr. Murdoch. I was already upon the track, and had I been out asearly as I intended I might well have saved you from this terrificexperience."

"But how did you know, Mr. Holmes?"

"I am an omnivorous reader with a strangely retentive memory fortrifles. That phrase 'the Lion's Mane' haunted my mind. I knew that Ihad seen it somewhere in an unexpected context. You have seen that itdoes describe the creature. I have no doubt that it was floating on thewater when McPherson saw it, and that this phrase was the only one bywhich he could convey to us a warning as to the creature which had beenhis death."

"Then I, at least, am cleared," said Murdoch, rising slowly to hisfeet. "There are one or two words of explanation which I should give,for I know the direction in which your inquiries have run. It is truethat I loved this lady, but from the day when she chose my friendMcPherson my one desire was to help her to happiness. I was wellcontent to stand aside and act as their go-between. Often I carriedtheir messages, and it was because I was in their confidence andbecause she was so dear to me that I hastened to tell her of myfriend's death, lest someone should forestall me in a more sudden andheartless manner. She would not tell you, sir, of our relations lestyou should disapprove and I might suffer. But with your leave I musttry to get back to The Gables, for my bed will be very welcome."

Stackhurst held out his hand. "Our nerves have all been atconcert-pitch," said he. "Forgive what is past, Murdoch. We shallunderstand each other better in the future." They passed out togetherwith their arms linked in friendly fashion. The inspector remained,staring at me in silence with his ox-like eyes.

I was forced to shake my head. To accept such praise was to lower one'sown standards.

"I was slow at the outset--culpably slow. Had the body been found inthe water I could hardly have missed it. It was the towel which misledme. The poor fellow had never thought to dry himself, and so I in turnwas led to believe that he had never been in the water. Why, then,should the attack of any water creature suggest itself to me? That waswhere I went astray. Well, well, Inspector, I often ventured to chaffyou gentlemen of the police force, but Cyanea capillata very nearlyavenged Scotland Yard."

THE ADVENTURE OF THE VEILED LODGER

When one considers that Mr. Sherlock Holmes was in active practice fortwenty-three years, and that during seventeen of these I was allowed tocooperate with him and to keep notes of his doings, it will be clearthat I have a mass of material at my command. The problem has alwaysbeen not to find but to choose. There is the long row of year-bookswhich fill a shelf and there are the dispatch-cases filled withdocuments, a perfect quarry for the student not only of crime but ofthe social and official scandals of the late Victorian era. Concerningthese latter, I may say that the writers of agonized letters, who begthat the honour of their families or the reputation of famous forebearsmay not be touched, have nothing to fear. The discretion and high senseof professional honour which have always distinguished my friend arestill at work in the choice of these memoirs, and no confidence will beabused. I deprecate, however, in the strongest way the attempts whichhave been made lately to get at and to destroy these papers. The sourceof these outrages is known, and if they are repeated I have Mr.Holmes's authority for saying that the whole story concerning thepolitician, the lighthouse, and the trained cormorant will be given tothe public. There is at least one reader who will understand.

It is not reasonable to suppose that every one of these cases gaveHolmes the opportunity of showing those curious gifts of instinct andobservation which I have endeavoured to set forth in these memoirs.Sometimes he had with much effort to pick the fruit, sometimes it felleasily into his lap. But the most terrible human tragedies were ofteninvolved in those cases which brought him the fewest personalopportunities, and it is one of these which I now desire to record. Intelling it, I have made a slight change of name and place, butotherwise the facts are as stated.

One forenoon--it was late in 1896--I received a hurried note fromHolmes asking for my attendance. When I arrived I found him seated in asmoke-laden atmosphere, with an elderly, motherly woman of the buxomlandlady type in the corresponding chair in front of him.

"This is Mrs. Merrilow, of South Brixton," said my friend with a waveof the hand. "Mrs. Merrilow does not object to tobacco, Watson, if youwish to indulge your filthy habits. Mrs. Merrilow has an interestingstory to tell which may well lead to further developments in which yourpresence may be useful."

"Anything I can do--"

"You will understand, Mrs. Merrilow, that if I come to Mrs. Ronder Ishould prefer to have a witness. You will make her understand thatbefore we arrive."

"Lord bless you, Mr. Holmes," said our visitor, "she is that anxious tosee you that you might bring the whole parish at your heels!"

"Then we shall come early in the afternoon. Let us see that we have ourfacts correct before we start. If we go over them it will help Dr.Watson to understand the situation. You say that Mrs. Ronder has beenyour lodger for seven years and that you have only once seen her face."

"And I wish to God I had not!" said Mrs. Merrilow.

"It was, I understand, terribly mutilated."

"Well, Mr. Holmes, you would hardly say it was a face at all. That'show it looked. Our milkman got a glimpse of her once peeping out of theupper window, and he dropped his tin and the milk all over the frontgarden. That is the kind of face it is. When I saw her--I happened onher unawares--she covered up quick, and then she said, 'Now, Mrs.Merrilow, you know at last why it is that I never raise my veil.'"

"Do you know anything about her history?"

"Nothing at all."

"Did she give references when she came?"

"No, sir, but she gave hard cash, and plenty of it. A quarter's rentright down on the table in advance and no arguing about terms. In thesetimes a poor woman like me can't afford to turn down a chance likethat."

"Did she give any reason for choosing your house?"

"Mine stands well back from the road and is more private than most.Then, again, I only take the one, and I have no family of my own. Ireckon she had tried others and found that mine suited her best. It'sprivacy she is after, and she is ready to pay for it."

"You say that she never showed her face from first to last save on theone accidental occasion. Well, it is a very remarkable story, mostremarkable, and I don't wonder that you want it examined."

"I don't, Mr. Holmes. I am quite satisfied so long as I get my rent.You could not have a quieter lodger, or one who gives less trouble."

"Then what has brought matters to a head?"

"Her health, Mr. Holmes. She seems to be wasting away. And there'ssomething terrible on her mind. 'Murder!' she cries. 'Murder!' And onceI heard her: 'You cruel beast! You monster!' she cried. It was in thenight, and it fair rang through the house and sent the shivers throughme. So I went to her in the morning. 'Mrs. Ronder,' I says, 'if youhave anything that is troubling your soul, there's the clergy,' I says,'and there's the police. Between them you should get some help.' 'ForGod's sake, not the police!' says she, 'and the clergy can't changewhat is past. And yet,' she says, 'it would ease my mind if someoneknew the truth before I died.' 'Well,' says I, 'if you won't have theregulars, there is this detective man what we read about'--beggin'your pardon, Mr. Holmes. And she, she fair jumped at it. 'That's theman,' says she. 'I wonder I never thought of it before. Bring him here,Mrs. Merrilow, and if he won't come, tell him I am the wife of Ronder'swild beast show. Say that, and give him the name Abbas Parva. Here itis as she wrote it, Abbas Parva. 'That will bring him if he's the man Ithink he is.'"

"And it will, too," remarked Holmes. "Very good, Mrs. Merrilow. Ishould like to have a little chat with Dr. Watson. That will carry ustill lunch-time. About three o'clock you may expect to see us at yourhouse in Brixton."

Our visitor had no sooner waddled out of the room--no other verb candescribe Mrs. Merrilow's method of progression--than Sherlock Holmesthrew himself with fierce energy upon the pile of commonplace books inthe corner. For a few minutes there was a constant swish of the leaves,and then with a grunt of satisfaction he came upon what he sought. Soexcited was he that he did not rise, but sat upon the floor like somestrange Buddha, with crossed legs, the huge books all round him, andone open upon his knees.

"The case worried me at the time, Watson. Here are my marginal notes toprove it. I confess that I could make nothing of it. And yet I wasconvinced that the coroner was wrong. Have you no recollection of theAbbas Parva tragedy?"

"None, Holmes."

"And yet you were with me then. But certainly my own impression wasvery superficial. For there was nothing to go by, and none of theparties had engaged my services. Perhaps you would care to read thepapers?"

"Could you not give me the points?"

"That is very easily done. It will probably come back to your memory asI talk. Ronder, of course, was a household word. He was the rival ofWombwell, and of Sanger, one of the greatest showmen of his day. Thereis evidence, however, that he took to drink, and that both he and hisshow were on the down grade at the time of the great tragedy. Thecaravan had halted for the night at Abbas Parva, which is a smallvillage in Berkshire, when this horror occurred. They were on their wayto Wimbledon, travelling by road, and they were simply camping and notexhibiting, as the place is so small a one that it would not have paidthem to open.

"They had among their exhibits a very fine North African lion. SaharaKing was its name, and it was the habit, both of Ronder and his wife,to give exhibitions inside its cage. Here, you see, is a photograph ofthe performance by which you will perceive that Ronder was a hugeporcine person and that his wife was a very magnificent woman. It wasdeposed at the inquest that there had been some signs that the lion wasdangerous, but, as usual, familiarity begat contempt, and no notice wastaken of the fact.

"It was usual for either Ronder or his wife to feed the lion at night.Sometimes one went, sometimes both, but they never allowed anyone elseto do it, for they believed that so long as they were the food-carriershe would regard them as benefactors and would never molest them. Onthis particular night, seven years ago, they both went, and a veryterrible happening followed, the details of which have never been madeclear.

"It seems that the whole camp was roused near midnight by the roars ofthe animal and the screams of the woman. The different grooms andemployees rushed from their tents, carrying lanterns, and by theirlight an awful sight was revealed. Ronder lay, with the back of hishead crushed in and deep claw-marks across his scalp, some ten yardsfrom the cage, which was open. Close to the door of the cage lay Mrs.Ronder upon her back, with the creature squatting and snarling aboveher. It had torn her face in such a fashion that it was never thoughtthat she could live. Several of the circus men, headed by Leonardo, thestrong man, and Griggs, the clown, drove the creature off with poles,upon which it sprang back into the cage and was at once locked in. Howit had got loose was a mystery. It was conjectured that the pairintended to enter the cage, but that when the door was loosed thecreature bounded out upon them. There was no other point of interest inthe evidence save that the woman in a delirium of agony kept screaming,'Coward! Coward!' as she was carried back to the van in which theylived. It was six months before she was fit to give evidence, but theinquest was duly held, with the obvious verdict of death frommisadventure."

"What alternative could be conceived?" said I.

"You may well say so. And yet there were one or two points whichworried young Edmunds, of the Berkshire Constabulary. A smart lad that!He was sent later to Allahabad. That was how I came into the matter,for he dropped in and smoked a pipe or two over it."

"A thin, yellow-haired man?"

"Exactly. I was sure you would pick up the trail presently."

"But what worried him?"

"Well, we were both worried. It was so deucedly difficult toreconstruct the affair. Look at it from the lion's point of view. He isliberated. What does he do? He takes half a dozen bounds forward, whichbrings him to Ronder. Ronder turns to fly--the claw-marks were on theback of his head--but the lion strikes him down. Then, instead ofbounding on and escaping, he returns to the woman, who was close to thecage, and he knocks her over and chews her face up. Then, again, thosecries of hers would seem to imply that her husband had in some wayfailed her. What could the poor devil have done to help her? You seethe difficulty?"

"Quite."

"And then there was another thing. It comes back to me now as I thinkit over. There was some evidence that just at the time the lion roaredand the woman screamed, a man began shouting in terror."

"This man Ronder, no doubt."

"Well, if his skull was smashed in you would hardly expect to hear fromhim again. There were at least two witnesses who spoke of the cries ofa man being mingled with those of a woman."

"I should think the whole camp was crying out by then. As to the otherpoints, I think I could suggest a solution."

"I should be glad to consider it."

"The two were together, ten yards from the cage, when the lion gotloose. The man turned and was struck down. The woman conceived the ideaof getting into the cage and shutting the door. It was her only refuge.She made for it, and just as she reached it the beast bounded after herand knocked her over. She was angry with her husband for havingencouraged the beast's rage by turning. If they had faced it they mighthave cowed it. Hence her cries of 'Coward!'"

"Brilliant, Watson! Only one flaw in your diamond."

"What is the flaw, Holmes?"

"If they were both ten paces from the cage, how came the beast to getloose?"

"Is it possible that they had some enemy who loosed it?"

"And why should it attack them savagely when it was in the habit ofplaying with them, and doing tricks with them inside the cage?"

"Possibly the same enemy had done something to enrage it."

Holmes looked thoughtful and remained in silence for some moments.

"Well, Watson, there is this to be said for your theory. Ronder was aman of many enemies. Edmunds told me that in his cups he was horrible.A huge bully of a man, he cursed and slashed at everyone who came inhis way. I expect those cries about a monster, of which our visitor hasspoken, were nocturnal reminiscences of the dear departed. However, ourspeculations are futile until we have all the facts. There is a coldpartridge on the sideboard, Watson, and a bottle of Montrachet. Let usrenew our energies before we make a fresh call upon them."

When our hansom deposited us at the house of Mrs. Merrilow, we foundthat plump lady blocking up the open door of her humble but retiredabode. It was very clear that her chief preoccupation was lest sheshould lose a valuable lodger, and she implored us, before showing usup, to say and do nothing which could lead to so undesirable an end.Then, having reassured her, we followed her up the straight, badlycarpeted staircase and were shown into the room of the mysteriouslodger.

It was a close, musty, ill-ventilated place, as might be expected,since its inmate seldom left it. From keeping beasts in a cage, thewoman seemed, by some retribution of fate, to have become herself abeast in a cage. She sat now in a broken armchair in the shadowy cornerof the room. Long years of inaction had coarsened the lines of herfigure, but at some period it must have been beautiful, and was stillfull and voluptuous. A thick dark veil covered her face, but it was cutoff close at her upper lip and disclosed a perfectly shaped mouth and adelicately rounded chin. I could well conceive that she had indeed beena very remarkable woman. Her voice, too, was well modulated andpleasing.

"My name is not unfamiliar to you, Mr. Holmes," said she. "I thoughtthat it would bring you."

"That is so, madam, though I do not know how you are aware that I wasinterested in your case."

"I learned it when I had recovered my health and was examined by Mr.Edmunds, the county detective. I fear I lied to him. Perhaps it wouldhave been wiser had I told the truth."

"It is usually wiser to tell the truth. But why did you lie to him?"

"Because the fate of someone else depended upon it. I know that he wasa very worthless being, and yet I would not have his destruction uponmy conscience. We had been so close--so close!"

"But has this impediment been removed?"

"Yes, sir. The person that I allude to is dead."

"Then why should you not now tell the police anything you know?"

"Because there is another person to be considered. That other person ismyself. I could not stand the scandal and publicity which would comefrom a police examination. I have not long to live, but I wish to dieundisturbed. And yet I wanted to find one man of judgment to whom Icould tell my terrible story, so that when I am gone all might beunderstood."

"You compliment me, madam. At the same time, I am a responsible person.I do not promise you that when you have spoken I may not myself thinkit my duty to refer the case to the police."

"I think not, Mr. Holmes. I know your character and methods too well,for I have followed your work for some years. Reading is the onlypleasure which fate has left me, and I miss little which passes in theworld. But in any case, I will take my chance of the use which you maymake of my tragedy. It will ease my mind to tell it."

"My friend and I would be glad to hear it."

The woman rose and took from a drawer the photograph of a man. He wasclearly a professional acrobat, a man of magnificent physique, takenwith his huge arms folded across his swollen chest and a smile breakingfrom under his heavy moustache--the self-satisfied smile of the manof many conquests.

"That is Leonardo," she said.

"Leonardo, the strong man, who gave evidence?"

"The same. And this--this is my husband."

It was a dreadful face--a human pig, or rather a human wild boar, forit was formidable in its bestiality. One could imagine that vile mouthchamping and foaming in its rage, and one could conceive those small,vicious eyes darting pure malignancy as they looked forth upon theworld. Ruffian, bully, beast--it was all written on that heavy-jowledface.

"Those two pictures will help you, gentlemen, to understand the story.I was a poor circus girl brought up on the sawdust, and doing springsthrough the hoop before I was ten. When I became a woman this man lovedme, if such lust as his can be called love, and in an evil moment Ibecame his wife. From that day I was in hell, and he the devil whotormented me. There was no one in the show who did not know of histreatment. He deserted me for others. He tied me down and lashed mewith his ridingwhip when I complained. They all pitied me and they allloathed him, but what could they do? They feared him, one and all. Forhe was terrible at all times, and murderous when he was drunk. Againand again he was had up for assault, and for cruelty to the beasts, buthe had plenty of money and the fines were nothing to him. The best menall left us, and the show began to go downhill. It was only Leonardoand I who kept it up--with little Jimmy Griggs, the clown. Poordevil, he had not much to be funny about, but he did what he could tohold things together.

"Then Leonardo came more and more into my life. You see what he waslike. I know now the poor spirit that was hidden in that splendid body,but compared to my husband he seemed like the angel Gabriel. He pitiedme and helped me, till at last our intimacy turned to love--deep,deep, passionate love, such love as I had dreamed of but never hoped tofeel. My husband suspected it, but I think that he was a coward as wellas a bully, and that Leonardo was the one man that he was afraid of. Hetook revenge in his own way by torturing me more than ever. One nightmy cries brought Leonardo to the door of our van. We were near tragedythat night, and soon my lover and I understood that it could not beavoided. My husband was not fit to live. We planned that he should die.

"Leonardo had a clever, scheming brain. It was he who planned it. I donot say that to blame him, for I was ready to go with him every inch ofthe way. But I should never have had the wit to think of such a plan.We made a club--Leonardo made it--and in the leaden head hefastened five long steel nails, the points outward, with just such aspread as the lion's paw. This was to give my husband his death-blow,and yet to leave the evidence that it was the lion which we would loosewho had done the deed.

"It was a pitch-dark night when my husband and I went down, as was ourcustom, to feed the beast. We carried with us the raw meat in a zincpail. Leonardo was waiting at the corner of the big van which we shouldhave to pass before we reached the cage. He was too slow, and we walkedpast him before he could strike, but he followed us on tiptoe and Iheard the crash as the club smashed my husband's skull. My heart leapedwith joy at the sound. I sprang forward, and I undid the catch whichheld the door of the great lion's cage.

"And then the terrible thing happened. You may have heard how quickthese creatures are to scent human blood, and how it excites them. Somestrange instinct had told the creature in one instant that a humanbeing had been slain. As I slipped the bars it bounded out and was onme in an instant. Leonardo could have saved me. If he had rushedforward and struck the beast with his club he might have cowed it. Butthe man lost his nerve. I heard him shout in his terror, and then I sawhim turn and fly. At the same instant the teeth of the lion met in myface. Its hot, filthy breath had already poisoned me and I was hardlyconscious of pain. With the palms of my hands I tried to push the greatsteaming, blood-stained jaws away from me, and I screamed for help. Iwas conscious that the camp was stirring, and then dimly I remembered agroup of men. Leonardo, Griggs, and others, dragging me from under thecreature's paws. That was my last memory, Mr. Holmes, for many a wearymonth. When I came to myself and saw myself in the mirror, I cursedthat lion--oh, how I cursed him!--not because he had torn away mybeauty but because he had not torn away my life. I had but one desire,Mr. Holmes, and I had enough money to gratify it. It was that I shouldcover myself so that my poor face should be seen by none, and that Ishould dwell where none whom I had ever known should find me. That wasall that was left to me to do--and that is what I have done. A poorwounded beast that has crawled into its hole to die--that is the endof Eugenia Ronder."

We sat in silence for some time after the unhappy woman had told herstory. Then Holmes stretched out his long arm and patted her hand withsuch a show of sympathy as I had seldom known him to exhibit.

"Poor girl!" he said. "Poor girl! The ways of fate are indeed hard tounderstand. If there is not some compensation hereafter, then the worldis a cruel jest. But what of this man Leonardo?"

"I never saw him or heard from him again. Perhaps I have been wrong tofeel so bitterly against him. He might as soon have loved one of thefreaks whom we carried round the country as the thing which the lionhad left. But a woman's love is not so easily set aside. He had left meunder the beast's claws, he had deserted me in my need, and yet I couldnot bring myself to give him to the gallows. For myself, I carednothing what became of me. What could be more dreadful than my actuallife? But I stood between Leonardo and his fate."

"And he is dead?"

"He was drowned last month when bathing near Margate. I saw his deathin the paper."

"And what did he do with this five-clawed club, which is the mostsingular and ingenious part of all your story?"

"I cannot tell, Mr. Holmes. There is a chalk-pit by the camp, with adeep green pool at the base of it. Perhaps in the depths of that pool--"

"Well, well, it is of little consequence now. The case is closed."

"Yes," said the woman, "the case is closed."

We had risen to go, but there was something in the woman's voice whicharrested Holmes's attention. He turned swiftly upon her.

"Your life is not your own," he said. "Keep your hands off it."

"What use is it to anyone?"

"How can you tell? The example of patient suffering is in itself themost precious of all lessons to an impatient world."

The woman's answer was a terrible one. She raised her veil and steppedforward into the light.

"I wonder if you would bear it," she said.

It was horrible. No words can describe the framework of a face when theface itself is gone. Two living and beautiful brown eyes looking sadlyout from that grisly ruin did but make the view more awful. Holmes heldup his hand in a gesture of pity and protest, and together we left theroom.

Two days later, when I called upon my friend, he pointed with somepride to a small blue bottle upon his mantelpiece. I picked it up.There was a red poison label. A pleasant almondy odour rose when Iopened it.

"Prussic acid?" said I.

"Exactly. It came by post. 'I send you my temptation. I will followyour advice.' That was the message. I think, Watson, we can guess thename of the brave woman who sent it."

THE ADVENTURE OF SHOSCOMBE OLD PLACE

Sherlock Holmes had been bending for a long time over a low-powermicroscope. Now he straightened himself up and looked round at me intriumph.

"It is glue, Watson," said he. "Unquestionably it is glue. Have a lookat these scattered objects in the field!"

I stooped to the eyepiece and focussed for my vision.

"Those hairs are threads from a tweed coat. The irregular gray massesare dust. There are epithelial scales on the left. Those brown blobs inthe centre are undoubtedly glue."

"It is a very fine demonstration," he answered. "In the St. Pancrascase you may remember that a cap was found beside the dead policeman.The accused man denies that it is his. But he is a picture-frame makerwho habitually handles glue."

"Is it one of your cases?"

"No; my friend, Merivale, of the Yard, asked me to look into the case.Since I ran down that coiner by the zinc and copper filings in the seamof his cuff they have begun to realize the importance of themicroscope." He looked impatiently at his watch. "I had a new clientcalling, but he is overdue. By the way, Watson, you know something ofracing?"

"I ought to. I pay for it with about half my wound pension."

"Then I'll make you my 'Handy Guide to the Turf.' What about Sir RobertNorberton? Does the name recall anything?"

"Well, I should say so. He lives at Shoscombe Old Place, and I know itwell, for my summer quarters were down there once. Norberton nearlycame within your province once."

"How was that?"

"It was when he horsewhipped Sam Brewer, the well-known Curzon Streetmoney-lender, on Newmarket Heath. He nearly killed the man."

"Ah, he sounds interesting! Does he often indulge in that way?"

"Well, he has the name of being a dangerous man. He is about the mostdaredevil rider in England--second in the Grand National a few yearsback. He is one of those men who have overshot their true generation.He should have been a buck in the days of the Regency--a boxer, anathlete, a plunger on the turf, a lover of fair ladies, and, by allaccount, so far down Queer Street that he may never find his way backagain."

"Capital, Watson! A thumb-nail sketch. I seem to know the man. Now, canyou give me some idea of Shoscombe Old Place?"

"Only that it is in the centre of Shoscombe Park, and that the famousShoscombe stud and training quarters are to be found there."

"And the head trainer," said Holmes, "is John Mason. You need not looksurprised at my knowledge, Watson, for this is a letter from him whichI am unfolding. But let us have some more about Shoscombe. I seem tohave struck a rich vein."

"There are the Shoscombe spaniels," said I. "You hear of them at everydog show. The most exclusive breed in England. They are the specialpride of the lady of Shoscombe Old Place."

"Sir Robert Norberton's wife, I presume!"

"Sir Robert has never married. Just as well, I think, considering hisprospects. He lives with his widowed sister, Lady Beatrice Falder."

"You mean that she lives with him?"

"No, no. The place belonged to her late husband, Sir James. Norbertonhas no claim on it at all. It is only a life interest and reverts toher husband's brother. Meantime, she draws the rents every year."

"And brother Robert, I suppose, spends the said rents?"

"That is about the size of it. He is a devil of a fellow and must leadher a most uneasy life. Yet I have heard that she is devoted to him.But what is amiss at Shoscombe?"

"Ah, that is just what I want to know. And here, I expect, is the manwho can tell us."

The door had opened and the page had shown in a tall, clean-shaven manwith the firm, austere expression which is only seen upon those whohave to control horses or boys. Mr. John Mason had many of both underhis sway, and he looked equal to the task. He bowed with coldself-possession and seated himself upon the chair to which Holmes hadwaved him.

"You had my note, Mr. Holmes?"

"Yes, but it explained nothing."

"It was too delicate a thing for me to put the details on paper. Andtoo complicated. It was only face to face I could do it."

"Well, sir, when a man does one queer thing, or two queer things, theremay be a meaning to it, but when everything he does is queer, then youbegin to wonder. I believe Shoscombe Prince and the Derby have turnedhis brain."

"That is a colt you are running?"

"The best in England, Mr. Holmes. I should know, if anyone does. Now,I'll be plain with you, for I know you are gentlemen of honour and thatit won't go beyond the room. Sir Robert has got to win this Derby. He'sup to the neck, and it's his last chance. Everything he could raise orborrow is on the horse--and at fine odds, too! You can get fortiesnow, but it was nearer the hundred when he began to back him."

"But how is that if the horse is so good?"

"The public don't know how good he is. Sir Robert has been too cleverfor the touts. He has the Prince's half-brother out for spins. Youcan't tell 'em apart. But there are two lengths in a furlong betweenthem when it comes to a gallop. He thinks of nothing but the horse andthe race. His whole life is on it. He's holding off the Jews till then.If the Prince fails him he is done."

"It seems a rather desperate gamble, but where does the madness comein?"

"Well, first of all, you have only to look at him. I don't believe hesleeps at night. He is down at the stables at all hours. His eyes arewild. It has all been too much for his nerves. Then there is hisconduct to Lady Beatrice!"

"Ah! What is that?"

"They have always been the best of friends. They had the same tastes,the two of them, and she loved the horses as much as he did. Every dayat the same hour she would drive down to see them--and, above all,she loved the Prince. He would prick up his ears when he heard thewheels on the gravel, and he would trot out each morning to thecarriage to get his lump of sugar. But that's all over now."

"Why?"

"Well, she seems to have lost all interest in the horses. For a weeknow she has driven past the stables with never so much as'Good-morning'!"

"You think there has been a quarrel?"

"And a bitter, savage, spitelful quarrel at that. Why else would hegive away her pet spaniel that she loved as if he were her child? Hegave it a few days ago to old Barnes, what keeps the Green Dragon,three miles off, at Crendall."

"That certainly did seem strange."

"Of course, with her weak heart and dropsy one couldn't expect that shecould get about with him, but he spent two hours every evening in herroom. He might well do what he could, for she has been a rare goodfriend to him. But that's all over, too. He never goes near her. Andshe takes it to heart. She is brooding and sulky and drinking, Mr.Holmes--drinking like a fish."

"Did she drink before this estrangement?"

"Well, she took her glass, but now it is often a whole bottle of anevening. So Stephens, the butler, told me. It's all changed, Mr.Holmes, and there is something damned rotten about it. But then, again,what is master doing down at the old church crypt at night? And who isthe man that meets him there?"

Holmes rubbed his hands.

"Go on, Mr. Mason. You get more and more interesting."

"It was the butler who saw him go. Twelve o'clock at night and raininghard. So next night I was up at the house and, sure enough, master wasoff again. Stephens and I went after him, but it was jumpy work, for itwould have been a bad job if he had seen us. He's a terrible man withhis fists if he gets started, and no respecter of persons. So we wereshy of getting too near, but we marked him down all light. It was thehaunted crypt that he was making for, and there was a man waiting forhim there."

"What is this haunted cryp?"

"Well, sir, there is an old ruined chapel in the park. It is so oldthat nobody could fix its date. And under it there's a crypt which hasa bad name among us. It's a dark, damp, lonely place by day, but thereare few in that county that would have the nerve to go near it atnight. But master's not afraid. He never feared anything in his life.But what is he doing there in the night-time?"

"Wait a bit!" said Holmes. "You say there is another man there. It mustbe one of your own stablemen, or someone from the house! Surely youhave only to spot who it is and question him?"

"It's no one I know."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I have seen him, Mr. Holmes. It was on that second night. SirRobert turned and passed us--me and Stephens, quaking in the busheslike two bunny-rabbits, for there was a bit of moon that night. But wecould hear the other moving about behind. We were not afraid of him. Sowe up when Sir Robert was gone and pretended we were just having a walklike in the moonlight, and so we came right on him as casual andinnocent as you please. 'Hullo, mate! who may you be?' says I. I guesshe had not heard us coming, so he looked over his shoulder with a faceas if he had seen the devil coming out of hell. He let out a yell, andaway he went as hard as he could lick it in the darkness. He could run!--I'll give him that. In a minute he was out of sight and hearing, andwho he was, or what he was, we never found."

"But you saw him clearly in the moonlight?"

"Yes, I would swear to his yellow face--a mean dog, I should say.What could he have in common with Sir Robert?"

Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.

"Who keeps Lady Beatrice Falder company?" he asked at last.

"There is her maid, Carrie Evans. She has been with her this fiveyears."

"And is, no doubt, devoted?"

Mr. Mason shuffled uncomfortably.

"She's devoted enough," he answered at last. "But I won't say to whom."

"Ah!" said Holmes.

"I can't tell tales out of school."

"I quite understand, Mr. Mason. Of course, the situation is clearenough. From Dr. Watson's description of Sir Robert I can realize thatno woman is safe from him. Don't you think the quarrel between brotherand sister may lie there?"

"Well, the scandal has been pretty clear for a long time."

"But she may not have seen it before. Let us suppose that she hassuddenly found it out. She wants to get rid of the woman. Her brotherwill not permit it. The invalid, with her weak heart and inability toget about, has no means of enforcing her will. The hated maid is stilltied to her. The lady refuses to speak, sulks, takes to drink. SirRobert in his anger takes her pet spaniel away from her. Does not allthis hang together?"

"Well, it might do--so far as it goes."

"Exactly! As far as it goes. How would all that bear upon the visits bynight to the old crypt? We can't fit that into our plot."

"No, sir, and there is something more that I can't fit in. Why shouldSir Robert want to dig up a dead body?"

Holmes sat up abruptly.

"We only found it out yesterday--after I had written to you.Yesterday Sir Robert had gone to London, so Stephens and I went down tothe crypt. It was all in order, sir, except that in one corner was abit of a human body."

"You informed the police, I suppose?"

Our visitor smiled grimly.

"Well, sir, I think it would hardly interest them. It was just the headand a few bones of a mummy. It may have been a thousand years old. Butit wasn't there before. That I'll swear, and so will Stephens. It hadbeen stowed away in a corner and covered over with a board, but thatcorner had always been empty before."

"What did you do with it?"

"Well, we just left it there."

"That was wise. You say Sir Robert was away yesterday. Has hereturned?"

"We expect him back to-day."

"When did Sir Robert give away his sister's dog?"

"It was just a week ago to-day. The creature was howling outside theold wellhouse, and Sir Robert was in one of his tantrums that morning.He caught it up, and I thought he would have killed it. Then he gave itto Sandy Bain, the jockey, and told him to take the dog to old Barnesat the Green Dragon, for he never wished to see it again."

Holmes sat for some time in silent thought. He had lit the oldest andfoulest of his pipes.

"I am not clear yet what you want me to do in this matter, Mr. Mason,"he said at last. "Can't you make it more definite?"

"Perhaps this will make it more definite, Mr. Holmes," said ourvisltor.

He took a paper from his pocket, and, unwrapping it carefully, heexposed a charred fragment of bone.

Holmes examined it with interest.

"Where did you get it?"

"There is a central heating furnace in the cellar under Lady Beatrice'sroom. It's been off for some time, but Sir Robert complained of coldand had it on again.

"Harvey runs it--he's one of my lads. This very morning he came to mewith this which he found raking out the cinders. He didn't like thelook of it."

"Nor do I," said Holmes. "What do you make of it, Watson?"

It was burned to a black cinder, but there could be no question as toits anatomical significance.

"It's the upper condyle of a human femur," said I.

"Exactly!" Holmes had become very serious. "When does this lad tend tothe furnace?"

"He makes it up every evening and then leaves it."

"Then anyone could visit it during the night?"

"Yes, sir."

"Can you enter it from outside?"

"There is one door from outside. There is another which leads up by astair to the passage in which Lady Beatrice's room is situated."

"These are deep waters, Mr. Mason; deep and rather dirty. You say thatSir Robert was not at home last night?"

"No, sir."

"Then, whoever was burning bones, it was not he."

"That's true. sir."

"What is the name of that inn you spoke of?"

"The Green Dragon."

"Is there good fishing in that part of Berkshire?" The honest trainershowed very clearly upon his face that he was convinced that yetanother lunatic had come into his harassed life.

"Well, sir, I've heard there are trout in the mill-stream and pike inthe Hall lake."

"That's good enough. Watson and I are famous fishermen--are we not,Watson? You may address us in future at the Green Dragon. We shouldreach it to-night. I need not say that we don't want to see you, Mr.Mason, but a note will reach us, and no doubt I could find you if Iwant you. When we have gone a little farther into the matter I will letyou have a considered opinion."

Thus it was that on a bright May evening Holmes and I found ourselvesalone in a first-class carriage and bound for the little"halt-on-demand" station of Shoscombe. The rack above us was coveredwith a formidable litter of rods, reels, and baskets. On reaching ourdestination a short drive took us to an old-fashioned tavern, where asporting host, Josiah Barnes, entered eagerly into our plans for theextirpation of the fish of the neighbourhood.

"What about the Hall lake and the chance of a pike?" said Holmes.

The face of the innkeeper clouded.

"That wouldn't do, sir. You might chance to find yourself in the lakebefore you were through."

"How's that, then?"

"It's Sir Robert, sir. He's terrible jealous of touts. If you twostrangers were as near his training quarters as that he'd be after youas sure as fate. He ain't taking no chances, Sir Robert ain't."

"I've heard he has a horse entered for the Derby."

"Yes, and a good colt, too. He carries all our money for the race, andall Sir Robert's into the bargain. By the way"--he looked at us withthoughtful eyes--"I suppose you ain't on the turf yourselves?"

"No, indeed. Just two weary Londoners who badly need some goodBerkshire air."

"Well, you are in the right place for that. There is a deal of it lyingabout. But mind what I have told you about Sir Robert. He's the sortthat strikes first and speaks afterwards. Keep clear of the park."

"Surely, Mr. Barnes! We certainly shall. By the way, that was a mostbeautiful spaniel that was whining in the hall."

"I should say it was. That was the real Shoscombe breed. There ain't abetter in England."

"I am a dog-fancier myself," said Holmes. "Now, if it is a fairquestion, what would a prize dog like that cost?"

"More than I could pay, sir. It was Sir Robert himself who gave me thisone. That's why I have to keep it on a lead. It would be off to theHall in a jiffy if I gave it its head."

"We are getting some cards in our hand, Watson," said Holmes when thelandlord had left us. "It's not an easy one to play, but we may see ourway in a day or two. By the way, Sir Robert is still in London, I hear.We might, perhaps, enter the sacred domain to-night without fear ofbodily assault. There are one or two points on which I should likereassurance."

"Have you any theory, Holmes?"

"Only this, Watson, that something happened a week or so ago which hascut deep into the life of the Shoscombe household. What is thatsomething? We can only guess at it from its effects. They seem to be ofa curiously mixed character. But that should surely help us. It is onlythe colourless, uneventful case which is hopeless.

"Well, it might be so. Or--well, there is an alternative. Now tocontinue our review of the situation from the time that the quarrel, ifthere is a quarrel, began. The lady keeps her room, alters her habits,is not seen save when she drives out with her maid, refuses to stop atthe stables to greet her favourite horse and apparently takes to drink.That covers the case, does it not?"

"Save for the business in the crypt."

"That is another line of thought. There are two, and I beg you will nottangle them. Line A, which concerns Lady Beatrice, has a vaguelysinister flavour, has it not?"

"I can make nothing of it."

"Well, now, let us take up line B, which concerns Sir Robert. He is madkeen upon winning the Derby. He is in the hands of the Jews, and may atany moment be sold up and his racing stables seized by his creditors.He is a daring and desperate man. He derives his income from hissister. His sister's maid is his willing tool. So far we seem to be onfairly safe ground, do we not?"

"But the crypt?"

"Ah, yes, the crypt! Let us suppose, Watson--it is merely ascandalous supposition, a hypothesis put forward for argument's sake--that Sir Robert has done away with his sister."

"My dear Holmes, it is out of the question."

"Very possibly, Watson. Sir Robert is a man of an honourable stock. Butyou do occasionally find a carrion crow among the eagles. Let us for amoment argue upon this supposition. He could not fly the country untilhe had realized his fortune, and that fortune could only be realized bybringing off this coup with Shoscombe Prince. Therefore, he has stillto stand his ground. To do this he would have to dispose of the body ofhis victim, and he would also have to find a substitute who wouldimpersonate her. With the maid as his confidante that would not beimpossible. The woman's body might be conveyed to the crypt, which is aplace so seldom visited, and it might be secretly destroyed at night inthe furnace, leaving behind it such evidence as we have already seen.What say you to that, Watson?"

"Well, it is all possible if you grant the original monstroussupposition."

"I think that there is a small experiment which we may try to-morrow,Watson, in order to throw some light on the matter. Meanwhile, if wemean to keep up our characters, I suggest that we have our host in fora glass of his own wine and hold some high converse upon eels and dace,which seems to be the straight road to his affections. We may chance tocome upon some useful local gossip in the process."

In the morning Holmes discovered that we had come without ourspoon-bait for jack, which absolved us from fishing for the day. Abouteleven o'clock we started for a walk, and he obtained leave to take theblack spaniel with us.

"This is the place," said he as we came to two high park gates withheraldic griffins towering above them. "About midday, Mr Barnes informsme, the old lady takes a drive, and the carriage must slow down whilethe gates are opened. When it comes through, and before it gathersspeed, I want you, Watson, to stop the coachman with some question.Never mind me. I shall stand behind this holly-bush and see what I cansee."

It was not a long vigil. Within a quarter of an hour we saw the bigopen yellow barouche coming down the long avenue, with two splendid,high-stepping gray carriage horses in the shafts. Holmes crouchedbehind his bush with the dog. I stood unconcemedly swinging a cane inthe roadway. A keeper ran out and the gates swung open.

The carriage had slowed to a walk, and I was able to get a good look atthe occupants. A highly coloured young woman with flaxen hair andimpudent eyes sat on the left. At her right was an elderly person withrounded back and a huddle of shawls about her face and shoulders whichproclaimed the invalid. When the horses reached the highroad I held upmy hand with an authoritative gesture, and as the coachman pulled up Iinquired if Sir Robert was at Shoscombe Old Place.

At the same moment Holmes stepped out and released the spaniel. With ajoyous cry it dashed forward to the carriage and sprang upon the step.Then in a moment its eager greeting changed to furious rage, and itsnapped at the black skirt above it.

"Drive on! Drive on!" shrieked a harsh voice. The coachman lashed thehorses, and we were left standing in the roadway.

"Well, Watson, that's done it," said Holmes as he fastened the lead tothe neck of the excited spaniel. "He thought it was his mistress, andhe found it was a stranger. Dogs don't make mistakes."

"But it was the voice of a man!" I cried.

"Exactly! We have added one card to our hand, Watson, but it needscareful playing, all the same."

My companion seemed to have no further plans for the day, and we didactually use our fishing tackle in the mill-stream with the result thatwe had a dish of trout for our supper. It was only after that meal thatHolmes showed signs of renewed activity. Once more we found ourselvesupon the same road as in the morning, which led us to the park gates. Atall, dark figure was awaiting us there, who proved to be our Londonacquaintance, Mr. John Mason, the trainer.

"Good-evening, gentlemen," said he. "I got your note, Mr. Holmes. SirRobert has not returned yet, but I hear that he is expected to-night."

"How far is this crypt from the house?" asked Holmes.

"A good quarter of a mile."

"Then I think we can disregard him altogether."

"I can't afford to do that, Mr. Holmes. The moment he arrives he willwant to see me to get the last news of Shoscombe Prince."

"I see! In that case we must work without you, Mr. Mason. You can showus the crypt and then leave us."

It was pitch-dark and without a moon, but Mason led us over thegrass-lands until a dark mass loomed up in front of us which proved tobe the ancient chapel. We entered the broken gap which was once theporch, and our guide, stumbling among heaps of loose masonry, pickedhis way to the corner of the building, where a steep stair led downinto the crypt. Striking a match, he illuminated the melancholy place--dismal and evil-smelling, with ancient crumbling walls of rough-hewnstone, and piles of coffins, some of lead and some of stone, extendingupon one side right up to the arched and groined roof which lost itselfin the shadows above our heads. Holmes had lit his lantern, which shota tiny tunnel of vivid yellow light upon the mournful scene. Its rayswere reflected back from the coffin-plates, many of them adorned withthe griffin and coronet of this old family which carried its honourseven to the gate of Death.

"You spoke of some bones, Mr. Mason. Could you show them before yougo?"

"They are here in this corner." The trainer strode across and thenstood in silent surprise as our light was turned upon the place. "Theyare gone," said he.

"So I expected," said Holmes, chuckling. "I fancy the ashes of themmight even now be found in that oven which had already consumed apart."

"But why in the world would anyone want to burn the bones of a man whohas been dead a thousand years?" asked John Mason.

"That is what we are here to find out," said Holmes. "It may mean along search, and we need not detain you. I fancy that we shall get oursolution before morning."

When John Mason had left us, Holmes set to work making a very carefulexamination of the graves, ranging from a very ancient one, whichappeared to be Saxon, in the centre, through a long line of NormanHugos and Odos, until we reached the Sir William and Sir Denis Falderof the eighteenth century. It was an hour or more before Holmes came toa leaden coffin standing on end before the entrance to the vault. Iheard his little cry of satisfaction and was aware from his hurried butpurposeful movements that he had reached a goal. With his lens he waseagerly examining the edges of the heavy lid. Then he drew from hispocket a short jemmy, a box-opener, which he thrust into a chink,levering back the whole front, which seemed to be secured by only acouple of clamps. There was a rending, tearing sound as it gave way,but it had hardly hinged back and partly revealed the contents beforewe had an unforeseen interruption.

Someone was walking in the chapel above. It was the firm, rapid step ofone who came with a definite purpose and knew well the ground uponwhich he walked. A light streamed down the stairs, and an instant laterthe man who bore it was framed in the Gothic archway. He was a terriblefigure, huge in stature and fierce in manner. A large stable-lanternwhich he held in front of him shone upward upon a strong, heavilymoustached face and angry eyes, which glared round him into everyrecess of the vault, finally fixing themselves with a deadly stare uponmy companion and myself.

"Who the devil are you?" he thundered. "And what are you doing upon myproperty?" Then, as Holmes returned no answer he took a couple of stepsforward and raised a heavy stick which he carried. "Do you hear me?" hecried. "Who are you? What are you doing here?" His cudgel quivered inthe air.

But instead of shrinking Holmes advanced to meet him.

"I also have a question to ask you, Sir Robert," he said in hissternest tone. "Who is this? And what is it doing here?"

He turned and tore open the coffin-lid behind him. In the glare of thelantern I saw a body swathed in a sheet from head to foot withdreadful, witch-like features, all nose and chin, projecting at oneend, the dim, glazed eyes staring from a discoloured and crumblingface.

The baronet had staggered back with a cry and supported himself againsta stone sarcophagus.

"How came you to know of this?" he cried. And then, with some return ofhis truculent manner: "What business is it of yours?"

"My name is Sherlock Holmes," said my companion. "Possibly it isfamiliar to you. In any case, my business is that of every other goodcitizen--to uphold the law. It seems to me that you have much toanswer for."

Sir Robert glared for a moment, but Holmes's quiet voice and cool,assured manner had their effect.

"'Fore God, Mr. Holmes, it's all right," said he. "Appearances areagainst me, I'll admit, but I could act no otherwise."

"I should be happy to think so, but I fear your explanations must bebefore the police."

Sir Robert shrugged his broad shoulders.

"Well, if it must be, it must. Come up to the house and you can judgefor yourself how the matter stands."

A quarter of an hour later we found ourselves in what I judge, from thelines of polished barrels behind glass covers, to be the gun-room ofthe old house. It was comfortably furnished, and here Sir Robert leftus for a few moments. When he returned he had two companions with him;the one, the florid young woman whom we had seen in the carriage; theother, a small rat-faced man with a disagreeably furtive manner. Thesetwo wore an appearance of utter bewilderment, which showed that thebaronet had not yet had time to explain to them the turn events hadtaken.

"There," said Sir Robert with a wave of his hand, "are Mr. and Mrs.Norlett. Mrs. Norlett, under her maiden name of Evans, has for someyears been my sister's confidential maid. I have brought them herebecause I feel that my best course is to explain the true position toyou, and they are the two people upon earth who can substantiate what Isay."

"Is this necessary, Sir Robert? Have you thought what you are doing?"cried the woman.

"As to me, I entirely disclaim all responsibility," said her husband.

Sir Robert gave him a glance of contempt. "I will take allresponsibility," said he. "Now, Mr. Holmes, listen to a plain statementof the facts.

"You have clearly gone pretty deeply into my affairs or I should nothave found you where I did. Therefore, you know already, in allprobability, that I am running a dark horse for the Derby and thateverything depends upon my success. If I win, all is easy. If I lose--well, I dare not think of that!"

"I understand the position," said Holmes.

"I am dependent upon my sister, Lady Beatrice, for everything. But itis well known that her interest in the estate is for her own life only.For myself, I am deeply in the hands of the Jews. I have always knownthat if my sister were to die my creditors would be on to my estatelike a flock of vultures. Everything would be seized--my stables, myhorses--everything. Well, Mr. Holmes, my sister did die just a weekago."

"And you told no one!"

"What could I do? Absolute ruin faced me. If I could stave things offfor three weeks all would be well. Her maid's husband--this man here--is an actor. It came into our heads--it came into my head--thathe could for that short period personate my sister. It was but a caseof appearing daily in the carriage, for no one need enter her room savethe maid. It was not difficult to arrange. My sister died of the dropsywhich had long afflicted her."

"That will be for a coroner to decide."

"Her doctor would certify that for months her symptoms have threatenedsuch an end."

"Well, what did you do?"

"The body could not remain there. On the first night Norlett and Icarried it out to the old well-house, which is now never used. We werefollowed, however, by her pet spaniel, which yapped continually at thedoor, so I felt some safer place was needed. I got rid of the spaniel,and we carried the body to the crypt of the church. There was noindignity or irreverence, Mr. Holmes. I do not feel that I have wrongedthe dead."

"Your conduct seems to me inexcusable, Sir Robert."

The baronet shook his head impatiently. "It is easy to preach," saidhe. "Perhaps you would have felt differently if you had been in myposition. One cannot see all one's hopes and all one's plans shatteredat the last moment and make no effort to save them. It seemed to methat it would be no unworthy resting-place if we put her for the timein one of the coffins of her husband's ancestors lying in what is stillconsecrated ground. We opened such a coffin, removed the contents, andplaced her as you have seen her. As to the old relics which we tookout, we could not leave them on the floor of the crypt. Norlett and Iremoved them, and he descended at night and burned them in the centralfurnace. There is my story, Mr. Holmes, though how you forced my handso that I have to tell it is more than I can say."

Holmes sat for some time lost in thought.

"There is one flaw in your narrative, Sir Robert," he said at last."Your bets on the race, and therefore your hopes for the future, wouldhold good even if your creditors seized your estate."

"The horse would be part of the estate. What do they care for my bets?As likely as not they would not run him at all. My chief creditor is,unhappily, my most bitter enemy--a rascally fellow, Sam Brewer, whomI was once compelled to horsewhip on Newmarket Heath. Do you supposethat he would try to save me?"

"Well, Sir Robert," said Holmes, rising, "this matter must, of course,be referred to the police. It was my duty to bring the facts to light,and there I must leave it. As to the morality or decency of yourconduct, it is not for me to express an opinion. It is nearly midnight,Watson, and I think we may make our way back to our humble abode."

It is generally known now that this singular episode ended upon ahappier note than Sir Robert's actions deserved. Shoscombe Prince didwin the Derby, the sporting owner did net eighty thousand pounds inbets, and the creditors did hold their hand until the race was over,when they were paid in full, and enough was left to reestablish SirRobert in a fair position in life. Both police and coroner took alenient view of the transaction, and beyond a mild censure for thedelay in registering the lady's decease, the lucky owner got awayscatheless from this strange incident in a career which has nowoutlived its shadows and promises to end in an honoured old age.

THE ADVENTURE OF THE RETIRED COLOURMAN

Sherlock Holmes was in a melancholy and philosophic mood that morning.His alert practical nature was subject to such reactions.

"Did you see him?" he asked.

"You mean the old fellow who has just gone out?"

"Precisely."

"Yes, I met him at the door."

"What did you think of him?"

"A pathetic, futile, broken creature."

"Exactly, Watson. Pathetic and futile. But is not all life pathetic andfutile? Is not his story a microcosm of the whole? We reach. We grasp.And what is left in our hands at the end? A shadow. Or worse than ashadow--misery."

"Is he one of your clients?"

"Well, I suppose I may call him so. He has been sent on by the Yard.Just as medical men occasionally send their incurables to a quack. Theyargue that they can do nothing more, and that whatever happens thepatient can be no worse than he is."

"What is the matter?"

Holmes took a rather soiled card from the table. "Josiah Amberley. Hesays he was junior partner of Brickfall and Amberley, who aremanufacturers of artistic materials. You will see their names uponpaint-boxes. He made his little pile, retired from business at the ageof sixty-one, bought a house at Lewisham. and settled down to restafter a life of ceaseless grind. One would think his future wastolerably assured."

"Yes, indeed."

Holmes glanced over some notes which he had scribbled upon the back ofan envelope.

"Retired in 1896, Watson. Early in 1897 he married a woman twenty yearsyounger than himself--a good-looking woman, too. if the photographdoes not flatter. A competence, a wife, leisure--it seemed a straightroad which lay before him. And yet within two years he is, as you haveseen, as broken and miserable a creature as crawls beneath the sun."

"But what has happened?"

"The old story, Watson. A treacherous friend and a fickle wife. Itwould appear that Amberley has one hobby in life, and it is chess. Notfar from him at Lewisham there lives a young doctor who is also achess-player. I have noted his name as Dr. Ray Ernest. Ernest wasfrequently in the house, and an intimacy between him and Mrs. Amberleywas a natural sequence, for you must admit that our unfortunate clienthas few outward graces, whatever his inner virtues may be. The couplewent off together last week--destination untraced. What is more, thefaithless spouse carried off the old man's deed-box as her personalluggage with a good part of his life's savings within. Can we find thelady? Can we save the money? A commonplace problem so far as it hasdeveloped, and yet a vital one for Josiah Amberley."

"What will you do about it?"

"Well, the immediate question, my dear Watson, happens to be, What willyou do?--if you will be good enough to understudy me. You know that Iam preoccupied with this case of the two Coptic Patriarchs, whichshould come to a head to-day. I really have not time to go out toLewisham, and yet evidence taken on the spot has a special value. Theold fellow was quite insistent that I should go, but I explained mydifficulty. He is prepared to meet a representative."

"By all means," I answered. "I confess I don't see that I can be ofmuch service, but I am willing to do my best." And so it was that on asummer afternoon I set forth to Lewisham, little dreaming that within aweek the affair in which I was engaging would be the eager debate ofall England.

It was late that evening before I returned to Baker Street and gave anaccount of my mission. Holmes lay with his gaunt figure stretched inhis deep chair, his pipe curling forth slow wreaths of acrid tobacco,while his eyelids drooped over his eyes so lazily that he might almosthave been asleep were it not that at any halt or questionable passageof my narrative they half lifted, and two gray eyes, as bright and keenas rapiers, transfixed me with their searching glance.

"The Haven is the name of Mr. Josiah Amberley's house," I explained. "Ithink it would interest you, Holmes. It is like some penuriouspatrician who has sunk into the company of his inferiors. You know thatparticular quarter, the monotonous brick streets, the weary suburbanhighways. Right in the middle of them, a little island of ancientculture and comfort, lies this old home, surrounded by a high sun-bakedwall mottled with lichens and topped with moss, the sort of wall--"

"Cut out the poetry, Watson," said Holmes severely. "I note that it wasa high brick wall."

"Exactly. I should not have known which was The Haven had I not asked alounger who was smoking in the street. I have a reason for mentioninghim. He was a tall, dark, heavily moustached, rather military-lookingman. He nodded in answer to my inquiry and gave me a curiouslyquestioning glance, which came back to my memory a little later.

"I had hardly entered the gateway before I saw Mr. Amberley coming downthe drive. I only had a glimpse of him this morning, and he certainlygave me the impression of a strange creature, but when I saw him infull light his appearance was even more abnormal."

"I have, of course, studied it, and yet I should be interested to haveyour impression," said Holmes.

"He seemed to me like a man who was literally bowed down by care. Hisback was curved as though he carried a heavy burden. Yet he was not theweakling that I had at first imagined, for his shoulders and chest havethe framework of a giant, though his figure tapers away into a pair ofspindled legs."

"Left shoe wrinkled, right one smooth."

"I did not observe that."

"No, you wouldn't. I spotted his artificial limb. But proceed."

"I was struck by the snaky locks of grizzled hair which curled fromunder his old straw hat, and his face with its fierce, eager expressionand the deeply lined features."

"Very good, Watson. What did he say?"

"He began pouring out the story of his grievances. We walked down thedrive together, and of course I took a good look round. I have neverseen a worse-kept place. The garden was all running to seed, giving mean impression of wild neglect in which the plants had been allowed tofind the way of Nature rather than of art. How any decent woman couldhave tolerated such a state of things, I don't know. The house, too,was slatternly to the last degree, but the poor man seemed himself tobe aware of it and to be trying to remedy it, for a great pot of greenpaint stood in the centre of the hall, and he was carrying a thickbrush in his left hand. He had been working on the woodwork.

"He took me into his dingy sanctum, and we had a long chat. Of course,he was disappointed that you had not come yourself. 'I hardlyexpected,' he said, 'that so humble an individual as myself, especiallyafter my heavy financial loss, could obtain the complete attention ofso famous a man as Mr. Sherlock Holmes.'

"I assured him that the financial question did not arise. 'No ofcourse, it is art for art's sake with him,' said he, 'but even on theartistic side of crime he might have found something here to study. Andhuman nature, Dr. Watson--the black ingratitude of it all! When did Iever refuse one of her requests? Was ever a woman so pampered? And thatyoung man--he might have been my own son. He had the run of my house.And yet see how they have treated me! Oh, Dr. Watson, it is a dreadful,dreadful world!'

"That was the burden of his song for an hour or more. He had, it seems,no suspicion of an intrigue. They lived alone save for a woman whocomes in by the day and leaves every evening at six. On that particularevening old Amberley, wishing to give his wife a treat, had taken twoupper circle seats at the Haymarket Theatre. At the last moment she hadcomplained of a headache and had refused to go. He had gone alone.There seemed to be no doubt about the fact, for he produced the unusedticket which he had taken for his wife."

"That is remarkable--most remarkable," said Holmes, whose interest inthe case seemed to be rising. "Pray continue, Watson. I find yournarrative most arresting. Did you personally examine this ticket? Youdid not, perchance, take the number?"

"It so happens that I did," I answered with some pride. "It chanced tobe my old school number, thirty-one, and so is stuck in my head."

"Excellent, Watson! His seat, then, was either thirty or thirty-two."

"Quite so," I answered with some mystification. "And on B row."

"That is most satisfactory. What else did he tell you?"

"He showed me his strong-room, as he called it. It really is astrong-room--like a bank--with iron door and shutter--burglarproof, as he claimed. However, the woman seems to have had aduplicate key, and between them they had carried off some seventhousand pounds' worth of cash and securities."

"Securities! How could they dispose of those?"

"He said that he had given the police a list and that he hoped theywould be unsaleable. He had got back from the theatre about midnightand found the place plundered, the door and window open, and thefugitives gone. There was no letter or message, nor has he heard a wordsince. He at once gave the alarm to the police."

Holmes brooded for some minutes.

"You say he was painting. What was he painting?"

"Well, he was painting the passage. But he had already painted the doorand woodwork of this room I spoke of."

"Does it not strike you as a strange occupation in the circumstances?"

"'One must do something to ease an aching heart.' That was his ownexplanation. It was eccentric, no doubt, but he is clearly an eccentricman. He tore up one of his wife's photographs in my presence--tore itup furiously in a tempest of passion. 'I never wish to see her damnedface again,' he shrieked."

"Anything more, Watson?"

"Yes, one thing which struck me more than anything else. I had drivento the Blackheath Station and had caught my train there when, just asit was starting, I saw a man dart into the carriage next to my own. Youknow that I have a quick eye for faces, Holmes. It was undoubtedly thetall, dark man whom I had addressed in the street. I saw him once moreat London Bridge, and then I lost him in the crowd. But I am convincedthat he was following me."

"Holmes, you are a wizard. I did not say so, but he had gray-tintedsun-glasses."

"And a Masonic tie-pin?"

"Holmes!"

"Quite simple, my dear Watson. But let us get down to what ispractical. I must admit to you that the case, which seemed to me to beso absurdly simple as to be hardly worth my notice, is rapidly assuminga very different aspect. It is true that though in your mission youhave missed everything of importance, yet even those things which haveobtruded themselves upon your notice give rise to serious thought."

"What have I missed?"

"Don't be hurt, my dear fellow. You know that I am quite impersonal. Noone else would have done better. Some possibly not so well. But clearlyyou have missed some vital points. What is the opinion of theneighbours about this man Amberley and his wife? That surely is ofimportance. What of Dr. Ernest? Was he the gay Lothario one wouldexpect? With your natural advantages, Watson, every lady is your helperand accomplice. What about the girl at the post-office, or the wife ofthe greengrocer? I can picture you whispering soft nothings with theyoung lady at the Blue Anchor, and receiving hard somethings inexchange. All this you have left undone."

"It can still be done."

"It has been done. Thanks to the telephone and the help of the Yard, Ican usually get my essentials without leaving this room. As a matter offact, my information confirms the man's story. He has the local reputeof being a miser as well as a harsh and exacting husband. That he had alarge sum of money in that strong-room of his is certain. So also is itthat young Dr. Ernest, an unmarried man, played chess with Amberley,and probably played the fool with his wife. All this seems plainsailing, and one would think that there was no more to be said--andyet!--and yet!"

"Where lies the difficulty?"

"In my imagination, perhaps. Well, leave it there, Watson. Let usescape from this weary workaday world by the side door of music. Carinasings to-night at the Albert Hall, and we still have time to dress,dine, and enjoy."

In the morning I was up betimes, but some toast crumbs and two emptyeggshells told me that my companion was earlier still. I found ascribbled note upon the table.

DEAR WATSON:

There are one or two points of contact which I should wish to establishwith Mr. Josiah Amberley. When I have done so we can dismiss the case--ornot. I would only ask you to be on hand about three o'clock, as I conceiveit possible that I may want you.

S.H.

I saw nothing of Holmes all day, but at the hour named he returned,grave, preoccupied, and aloof. At such times it was wiser to leave himto himself.

"Has Amberley been here yet?"

"No."

"Ah! I am expecting him."

He was not disappointed, for presently the old fellow arrived with avery worried and puzzled expression upon his austere face.

"I've had a telegram, Mr. Holmes. I can make nothing of it." He handedit over, and Holmes read it aloud.

"Come at once without fail. Can give you information as to your recentloss. ELMAN. The Vicarage."

"Dispatched at 2:10 from Little Purlington," said Holmes. "LittlePurlington is in Essex, I believe, not far from Frinton. Well, ofcourse you will start at once. This is evidently from a responsibleperson, the vicar of the place. Where is my Crockford? Yes, here wehave him: 'J. C. Elman, M. A., Living of Moosmoor cum LittlePurlington.' Look up the trains, Watson."

"There is one at 5:20 from Liverpool Street."

"Excellent. You had best go with him, Watson. He may need help oradvice. Clearly we have come to a crisis in this affair."

But our client seemed by no means eager to start.

"It's perfectly absurd, Mr. Holmes," he said. "What can this manpossibly know of what has occurred? It is waste of time and money."

"He would not have telegraphed to you if he did not know something.Wire at once that you are coming."

"I don't think I shall go."

Holmes assumed his sternest aspect.

"It would make the worst possible impression both on the police andupon myself, Mr. Amberley, if when so obvious a clue arose you shouldrefuse to follow it up. We should feel that you were not really inearnest in this investigation."

Our client seemed horrified at the suggestion.

"Why, of course I shall go if you look at it in that way," said he. "Onthe face of it, it seems absurd to suppose that this parson knowsanything, but if you think--"

"I do think," said Holmes with emphasis, and so we were launched uponour journey. Holmes took me aside before we left the room and gave meone word of counsel, which showed that he considered the matter to beof importance. "Whatever you do, see that he really does go," said he."Should he break away or return, get to the nearest telephone exchangeand send the single word 'Bolted.' I will arrange here that it shallreach me wherever I am."

Little Purlington is not an easy place to reach, for it is on a branchline. My remembrance of the journey is not a pleasant one, for theweather was hot, the train slow, and my companion sullen and silent,hardly talking at all save to make an occasional sardonic remark as tothe futility of our proceedings. When we at last reached the littlestation it was a two-mile drive before we came to the Vicarage, where abig, solemn, rather pompous clergyman received us in his study. Ourtelegram lay before him.

"Well, gentlemen," he asked, "what can I do for you?"

"We came," I explained, "in answer to your wire."

"My wire! I sent no wire."

"I mean the wire which you sent to Mr. Josiah Amberley about his wifeand his money."

"If this is a joke, sir, it is a very questionable one," said the vicarangrily. "I have never heard of the gentleman you name, and I have notsent a wire to anyone."

Our client and I looked at each other in amazement.

"Perhaps there is some mistake," said I; "are there perhaps twovicarages? Here is the wire itself, signed Elman and dated from theVicarage."

"There is only one vicarage, sir, and only one vicar, and this wire isa scandalous forgery, the origin of which shall certainly beinvestigated by the police. Meanwhile, I can see no possible object inprolonging this interview."

So Mr. Amberley and I found ourselves on the roadside in what seemed tome to be the most primitive village in England. We made for thetelegraph office, but it was already closed. There was a telephone,however, at the little Railway Arms, and by it I got into touch withHolmes, who shared in our amazement at the result of our journey.

"Most singular!" said the distant voice. "Most remarkable! I much fear,my dear Watson, that there is no return train to-night. I haveunwittingly condemned you to the horrors of a country inn. However,there is always Nature, Watson--Nature and Josiah Amberley--you canbe in close commune with both." I heard his dry chuckle as he turnedaway.

It was soon apparent to me that my companion's reputation as a miserwas not undeserved. He had grumbled at the expense of the journey, hadinsisted upon travelling third-class, and was now clamorous in hisobjections to the hotel bill. Next morning, when we did at last arrivein London, it was hard to say which of us was in the worse humour.

"You had best take Baker Street as we pass," said I. "Mr. Holmes mayhave some fresh instructions."

"If they are not worth more than the last ones they are not of muchuse," said Amberley with a malevolent scowl. None the less, he kept mecompany. I had already warned Holmes by telegram of the hour of ourarrival, but we found a message waiting that he was at Lewisham andwould expect us there. That was a surprise, but an even greater one wasto find that he was not alone in the sitting-room of our client. Astern-looking, impassive man sat beside him, a dark man withgray-tinted glasses and a large Masonic pin projecting from his tie.

"This is my friend Mr. Barker," said Holmes. "He has been interestinghimself also in your business, Mr. Josiah Amberley, though we have beenworking independently. But we both have the same question to ask you!"

Mr. Amberley sat down heavily. He sensed impending danger. I read it inhis straining eyes and his twitching features.

"What is the question, Mr. Holmes?"

"Only this: What did you do with the bodies?"

The man sprang to his feet with a hoarse scream. He clawed into the airwith his bony hands. His mouth was open, and for the instant he lookedlike some horrible bird of prey. In a flash we got a glimpse of thereal Josiah Amberley, a misshapen demon with a soul as distorted as hisbody. As he fell back into his chair he clapped his hand to his lips asif to stifle a cough. Holmes sprang at his throat like a tiger andtwisted his face towards the ground. A white pellet fell from betweenhis gasping lips.

"No short cuts, Josiah Amberley. Things must be done decently and inorder. What about it, Barker?"

"I have a cab at the door," said our taciturn companion.

"It is only a few hundred yards to the station. We will go together.You can stay here, Watson. I shall be back within half an hour."

The old colourman had the strength of a lion in that great trunk ofhis, but he was helpless in the hands of the two experiencedman-handlers. Wriggling and twisting he was dragged to the waiting cab,and I was left to my solitary vigil in the ill-omened house. In lesstime than he had named, however, Holmes was back, in company with asmart young police inspector.

"I've left Barker to look after the formalities," said Holmes. "You hadnot met Barker, Watson. He is my hated rival upon the Surrey shore.When you said a tall dark man it was not difficult for me to completethe picture. He has several good cases to his credit, has he not,Inspector?"

"He has certainly interfered several times," the inspector answeredwith reserve.

"His methods are irregular, no doubt, like my own. The irregulars areuseful sometimes, you know. You, for example, with your compulsorywarning about whatever he said being used against him, could never havebluffed this rascal into what is virtually a confession."

"Perhaps not. But we get there all the same, Mr. Holmes. Don't imaginethat we had not formed our own views of this case, and that we wouldnot have laid our hands on our man. You will excuse us for feeling sorewhen you jump in with methods which we cannot use, and so rob us of thecredit."

"There shall be no such robbery, MacKinnon. I assure you that I effacemyself from now onward, and as to Barker, he has done nothing save whatI told him."

The inspector seemed considerably relieved.

"That is very handsome of you, Mr. Holmes. Praise or blame can matterlittle to you, but it is very different to us when the newspapers beginto ask questions."

"Quite so. But they are pretty sure to ask questions anyhow, so itwould be as well to have answers. What will you say, for example, whenthe intelligent and enterprising reporter asks you what the exactpoints were which aroused your suspicion, and finally gave you acertain conviction as to the real facts?"

The inspector looked puzzled.

"We don't seem to have got any real facts yet, Mr. Holmes. You say thatthe prisoner, in the presence of three witnesses, practically confessedby trying to commit suicide, that he had murdered his wife and herlover. What other facts have you?"

"Have you arranged for a search?"

"There are three constables on their way."

"Then you will soon get the clearest fact of all. The bodies cannot befar away. Try the cellars and the garden. It should not take long todig up the likely places. This house is older than the water-pipes.There must be a disused well somewhere. Try your luck there."

"But how did you know of it, and how was it done?"

"I'll show you first how it was done, and then I will give theexplanation which is due to you, and even more to my longsufferingfriend here, who has been invaluable throughout. But, first, I wouldgive you an insight into this man's mentality. It is a very unusual one--so much so that I think his destination is more likely to beBroadmoor than the scaffold. He has, to a high degree, the sort of mindwhich one associates with the mediaeval Italian nature rather than withthe modern Briton. He was a miserable miser who made his wife sowretched by his niggardly ways that she was a ready prey for anyadventurer. Such a one came upon the scene in the person of thischess-playing doctor. Amberley excelled at chess--one mark, Watson,of a scheming mind. Like all misers, he was a jealous man, and hisjealousy became a frantic mania. Rightly or wrongly, he suspected anintrigue. He determined to have his revenge, and he planned it withdiabolical cleverness. Come here!"

Holmes led us along the passage with as much certainty as if he hadlived in the house and halted at the open door of the strong-room.

"Pooh! What an awful smell of paint!" cried the inspector.

"That was our first clue," said Holmes. "You can thank Dr. Watson'sobservation for that, though he failed to draw the inference. It set myfoot upon the trail. Why should this man at such a time be filling hishouse with strong odours? Obviously, to cover some other smell which hewisfhed to conceal--some guilty smell which would suggest suspicions.Then came the idea of a room such as you see here with iron door andshutter--a hermetically sealed room. Put those two facts together,and whither do they lead? I could only determine that by examining thehouse myself. I was already certain that the case was serious, for Ihad examined the box-office chart at the Haymarket Theatre--anotherof Dr. Watson's bull's-eyes--and ascertained that neither B thirtynor thirty-two of the upper circle had been occupied that night.Therefore, Amberley had not been to the theatre, and his alibi fell tothe ground. He made a bad slip when he allowed my astute friend tonotice the number of the seat taken for his wife. The question nowarose how I might be able to examine the house. I sent an agent to themost impossible village I could think of, and summoned my man to it atsuch an hour that he could not possibly get back. To prevent anymiscarriage, Dr. Watson accompanied him. The good vicar's name I took,of course, out of my Crockford. Do I make it all clear to you?"

"It is masterly," said the inspector in an awed voice.

"There being no fear of interruption I proceeded to burgle the house.Burglary has always been an alternative profession had I cared to adoptit, and I have little doubt that I should have come to the front.Observe what I found. You see the gas-pipe along the skirting here.Very good. It rises in the angle of the wall, and there is a tap herein the corner. The pipe runs out into the strong-room, as you can see,and ends in that plaster rose in the centre of the ceiling, where it isconcealed by the ornamentation. That end is wide open. At any moment byturning the outside tap the room could be flooded with gas. With doorand shutter closed and the tap full on I would not give two minutes ofconscious sensation to anyone shut up in that little chamber. By whatdevilish device he decoyed them there I do not know, but once insidethe door they were at his mercy."

The inspector examined the pipe with interest. "One of our officersmentioned the smell of gas," said he, "but of course the window anddoor were open then, and the paint--or some of it--was alreadyabout. He had begun the work of painting the day before, according tohis story. But what next, Mr. Holmes?"

"Well, then came an incident which was rather unexpected to myself. Iwas slipping through the pantry window in the early dawn when I felt ahand inside my collar, and a voice said: 'Now, you rascal, what are youdoing in there?' When I could twist my head round I looked into thetinted spectacles of my friend and rival, Mr. Barker. It was a curiousforegathering and set us both smiling. It seems that he had beenengaged by Dr. Ray Ernest's family to make some investigations and hadcome to the same conclusion as to foul play. He had watched the housefor some days and had spotted Dr. Watson as one of the obviouslysuspicious characters who had called there. He could hardly arrestWatson, but when he saw a man actually climbing out of the pantrywindow there came a limit to his restraint. Of course, I told him howmatters stood and we continued the case together."

"Why him? Why not us?"

"Because it was in my mind to put that little test which answered soadmirably. I fear you would not have gone so far."

The inspector smiled.

"Well, maybe not. I understand that I have your word, Mr. Holmes, thatyou step right out of the case now and that you turn all your resultsover to us."

"Certainly, that is always my custom."

"Well, in the name of the force I thank you. It seems a clear case, asyou put it, and there can't be much difficulty over the bodies."

"I'll show you a grim little bit of evidence," said Holmes, "and I amsure Amberley himself never observed it. You'll get results, Inspector,by always putting yourself in the other fellow's place, and thinkingwhat you would do yourself. It takes some imagination, but it pays.Now, we will suppose that you were shut up in this little room, had nottwo minutes to live, but wanted to get even with the fiend who wasprobably mocking at you from the other side of the door. What would youdo?"

"Write a message."

"Exactly. You would like to tell people how you died. No use writing onpaper. That would be seen. If you wrote on the wall someone might restupon it. Now, look here! Just above the skirting is scribbled with apurple indelible pencil: 'We we--' That's all.''

"What do you make of that?"

"Well, it's only a foot above the ground. The poor devil was on thefloor dying when he wrote it. He lost his senses before he couldfinish."

"He was writing, 'We were murdered.'"

"That's how I read it. If you find an indelible pencil on the body--"

"We'll look out for it, you may be sure. But those securities? Clearlythere was no robbery at all. And yet he did possess those bonds. Weverified that."

"You may be sure he has them hidden in a safe place. When the wholeelopement had passed into history, he would suddenly discover them andannounce that the guilty couple had relented and sent back the plunderor had dropped it on the way."

"You certainly seem to have met every difficulty," said the inspector."Of course, he was bound to call us in, but why he should have gone toyou I can't understand."

"Pure swank!" Holmes answered. "He felt so clever and so sure ofhimself that he imagined no one could touch him. He could say to anysuspicious neighbour, 'Look at the steps I have taken. I have consultednot only the police but even Sherlock Holmes.'"

The inspector laughed.

"We must forgive you your 'even,' Mr. Holmes," said he "it's asworkmanlike a job as I can remember."

A couple of days later my friend tossed across to me a copy of thebi-weekly North Surrey Observer. Under a series of flaming headlines,which began with "The Haven Horror" and ended with "Brilliant PoliceInvestigation," there was a packed column of print which gave the firstconsecutive account of the affair. The concluding paragraph is typicalof the whole. It ran thus:

The remarkable acumen by which Inspector MacKinnondeduced from the smell of paint that some other smell, thatof gas, for example, might be concealed; the bold deductionthat the strong-room might also be the death-chamber, andthe subsequent inquiry which led to the discovery of thebodies in a disused well, cleverly concealed by a dogkennel, shouldlive in the history of crime as a standingexample of the intelligence of our professional detectives.

"Well, well, MacKinnon is a good fellow," said Holmes with a tolerantsmile. "You can file it in our archives, Watson. Some day the truestory may be told."